


The Coleman Ring

by NedsBrownEyes (KTMcGivens)



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Cold Case - Freeform, Engagement, F/M, Family, Kissing, Marriage Proposal, Mystery, Romance, True Love, eternal love, ring, trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17933294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTMcGivens/pseuds/NedsBrownEyes
Summary: Is there such a thing as kismet? When Nancy solves a mystery of star-crossed lovers, she solves her own love story with Ned.





	1. Chapter 1

She had hurt him again. For the second time, at least. This had not been her intention, of course, but he had popped the question, again, and she had told him no. Again.

“Don’t you love me?” Ned had asked, mournfully looking deep into her eyes.

“Yes, Ned! Of course, I love you!” Nancy had replied.

“But not enough,” Ned responded, sadly, “perhaps not enough.”

This was not true. Nancy loved him deeply, passionately, and completely. But she was not ready for marriage. Something inside her kept her from making this ultimate commitment to the man she loved more than she could say. She couldn’t explain it because she didn’t understand it. When she looked to the future, it always included Ned. And not just as her best friend. She always assumed that he would be her husband. Someday.

“That’s not true,” Nancy said, cupping her hands to his cheeks, “I’m just not ready to settle down yet.”

“Nancy,” Ned replied, removing her hands from his face. The hurt was growing in his eyes and Nancy could see that his heart was breaking. “We’ve been together for years. I graduated six months ago. I have a great job. I even bought a house. For us. Jeeze, Nancy, you helped pick it out! I assumed that you knew.”

Nancy nodded. What he was saying was true. Over the years of their relationship, he had made it clear that he would ask her to marry him a year before his graduating from Emerson College. So, it hadn’t been a surprise when he had stopped their walk along the river, dropped down on one knee, pulled out the velvet ring box, and asked if she would make him the happiest man on earth by marrying him. She thought that she would be thrilled but when she opened her mouth to speak, she heard herself turn him down.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she had asked herself.

Ned had been stunned, of course, but took the news bravely. They talked it over and Nancy told him that she just needed a little more time. Maybe another year. She told him that all she needed was one more year. Now here they were again.

“I don’t understand, Nancy,” Ned was saying, “I love you. I love you so much. If you love me as much as you say you do, then why don’t you want to be with me?”

“It’s not that, darling,” she replied, the term of endearment making him flinch as if she had just slapped him. She paused and started again, “Ned, I love you deeply. I want us to be together. I just can’t get married right now.” She sighed in frustration. “I can’t explain it.”

Reaching for his hand, she said softly. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Ned. Can you give me some time to think about it?”

“Sure,” he said, but the injury had already been inflicted. “Take all the time you need,” he added and slipped the ring box back into his pocket.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes as Nancy racked her brain trying to find a safe subject to talk about. They finally settled on discussing his job which was with a financial firm. He had only been there five months, but his bosses were already saying that he was showing “promise”, Ned admitted, with both pride and embarrassment. The house that he had bought for he and Nancy was in River Heights, despite his company’s location in Chicago. This meant that Ned had to take the train up and back each day. But he knew that Nancy was very close to her father and he wanted her to remain near him and to any detective work that might come her way through her father’s law practice. It was a sacrifice but one that he willingly made.

After exhausting that line of conversation, they returned to Ned’s car and drove silently home to Nancy’s house. At the front door, she asked him in, but he declined saying that he was tired and needed to get home. “Our home,” Ned thought to himself. He bent down, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and drove off without looking back.

“I’ve really hurt him this time,” Nancy thought sadly to herself as she entered the hallway. 

“Is that you, Nancy?” she heard her father call out.

“Yes, Dad,” she answered, “it’s me.” 

Nancy pulled off her coat and hung it in the hall closest as her father came out of his study to greet her. She saw him glance down briefly at her left hand. “Oh, God,” she thought, “he knows. Ned must have told him or asked for his blessing.”

Carson Drew had been smiling broadly but now frowned. He paused briefly and then, seeming to recover himself, said, “Nancy, I believe I have a new mystery for you that I think you’ll find very interesting.”

Intrigued, she followed him back into his study and took a seat in a chair across from him.

“Yes, please Dad,” she responded, “I’d welcome a good mystery, right now!”

“You may feel differently about this one,” said her father, again casting a quick glance at Nancy’s hand. “It involves the Nickersons.”

“The Nickersons!” she replied, in a shocked voice.

“Well, Mrs. Nickerson’s side of the family, to be precise,” said Carson Drew.

“The Colemans?” Nancy said.

“Ah, so you already know that Edith Nickerson’s maiden name is Coleman?” her father said smiling, his eyebrows raised.

Nancy nodded. “Coleman is Ned’s middle name,” she answered softly, blushing as she looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “He told me long ago that the name belonged to his mother’s family.”

Nancy had been a surrogate member of Ned’s family for years. They pretty much already considered her Ned’s wife and included her in all family events. She knew of, and had met, most of the Colemans.

“While you and Ned were out this evening,” her father continued, “Mr. and Mrs. Nickerson stopped by to….” and here Carson Drew coughed slightly and then cleared his throat. 

Nancy quickly deduced the reason why the Nickerson’s would have come to the Drew house. To celebrate the engagement of their children. An engagement that didn’t happen. Ned would be having to tell them now. He would be bravely defending her all the while dying inside. She could imagine the pain reflecting in his soft brown eyes.

“…er… to talk about an old family mystery,” her father was continuing, “something of a cold case.”

“A cold case?” Nancy asked.

“Yes, a very interesting case, indeed,” Mr. Drew confirmed, “one the police have never solved despite years of investigation.” And then, pausing to look at his daughter with some concern, he asked, “Shall I tell you about it?”

When Nancy nodded, her father settled back in his chair.

“Mrs. Nickerson will tell it better, but I will give you a brief accounting of the story as I know it,” her father began. “Edith can fill in all the details at a later time should you decide to take the case.”

Nancy hoped that her father had enough information to get her started as she did not relish the idea of speaking with Ned’s mother anytime soon.

“William Coleman was arrested for the murder of Anna Miller,” started Mr. Drew. “Let’s see. He would be Ned’s great, great, uncle.”

“Great, great, uncle?” asked Nancy, “Dad, how long ago was this?”

“Oh, about eighty years ago, or so, I would guess,” replied her father.

“Did he do it?” she asked.

“The Coleman family has always maintained his innocence, but let me start from the beginning,” said Mr. Drew, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

Nancy wanted to ask several questions but said nothing. She waited for her father to continue.

“William Coleman was a bright young man of about 22 years of age. He worked in his father’s accounting firm and had risen from clerk to the supervisor of several bookkeepers. It was understood that one day he would inherit the firm and he worked hard to learn the business. William was known to be honest, well liked, and had many friends.”

Nancy’s thoughts went to Ned. He sounded a lot like his uncle William.

Her father continued. “One day, a Mr. Miller came into the office to make some inquires. He was accompanied by his daughter, Anna, who, by all accounts, was strikingly beautiful. She was slightly taller than average, slim, with red hair, and bright blue eyes. Heads turned when she entered the room and poor William fell in love with her immediately.”

As her father paused for a moment, Nancy tried to envision Anna Miller. Tall, slender, and beautiful. Yes, that sounded exactly like the type of woman that would attract a Coleman. Thinking about the current Colemans, male and female, Nancy noted that all had attractive spouses.

“The next day, William made up some pretense to go visit Anna and they found that they had much in common. In no time at all, they became inseparable and the talk around town was that an engagement would soon be announced. Both families approved of the relationship and even encouraged it. So, when William asked to borrow money to purchase an engagement ring, his father was overjoyed, and offered to go with his son to the jewelers to pick one out. The two men chose the most beautiful, and most expensive ring in the shop and William told his father that he would be proposing to Anna on the following Saturday, which was three days away. 

When the day finally arrived, William put on his very best suit and, with the ring safely in his pocket, he walked to Anna’s house. He had invited her to go out on a walk with him along the Muskoka River, something they did often, and it was his intention to propose to her then. 

When he arrived at her home, he was surprised to be told that she was not there. The housekeeper told him that Anna had not been seen for quite a while. Thinking that perhaps she had meant for him to meet her at the river, William started out after her. After walking for several minutes, he nearly gave up hope of finding her and was turning to return home, when he noticed drops of blood along the path. Intrigued, he followed the droplets to where they ended, about three yards away, near the edge of the tree line. There, lying half hidden by a large tree trunk was Anna. She had a bump on her forehead and was bleeding from her mouth.”

Nancy leaned forward, totally intrigued by the story.

“William quickly pulled Anna into his arms and held her as he yelled for help. Soon a young boy appeared on the trail and William shouted for him to run to town for a doctor. As he held her, he asked Anna what had happened but her only reply was that she loved him. She then lapsed into unconsciousness and died moments later.

When the doctor arrived, followed by several people from the town, he found William weeping over the body, still holding her in his arms. It took the doctor and another man, several minutes to convince William to let her go. He was inconsolable. 

The next day, the police arrived at the Coleman home and arrested William for the murder of Anna Miller.”

“Why, Dad?” interrupted Nancy, “what proof did they have?”

“They didn’t have much. At the trial, the doctor did testify that he believed that Anna had died from a blow to the head. And the young boy testified that Anna was alive when William had told him to go get the doctor,” replied her father, “finally, William had been holding the body of Anna when the townspeople arrived. He even had some of her blood on his clothing.”

“Given that the entire town apparently knew of their relationship,” said Nancy, “and how much in love they appeared to be, it seems strange that they would have blamed William for her death.”

“The judge thought so to,” said Mr. Drew, “because court records show that he dismissed the charges and let William go. William was quite lucky, really, because, in his grief, he had been a terrible witness in his own defense and could only say that he could not go on living without Anna and wished to die. But his father had hired the best lawyer in the state to defend him and that gentleman pointed out the lack of evidence which gave the judge enough reason to throw out the case.”

“What happened to William after his release?” asked Nancy.

“No one knows. William Coleman walked out of the courthouse and was never seen or heard from again,” said Carson Drew with a shrug. “He simply disappeared.”

“So, Mrs. Nickerson would like me to find out what happened to William?” asked Nancy, not sure how to go about this.

“To find that out, yes. Also, to clear his name concerning the murder,” replied her father, “by discovering who might have killed Anna Miller!”

“Dad! That’s quite a tall order,” Nancy responded, “I won’t know where to start. Afterall, the case is eighty years old! The evidence is long gone.”

“Not all of it,” assured her father, “you could start by studying the court transcript of the trial. I will get you a copy. The murder was also in the local newspapers, copies of which are at the library.”

As Nancy nodded, feeling a bit more encouraged, her father added, “and you should definitely go over and talk to Edith Nickerson!”


	2. Chapter 2

Nancy did not have to wait long before Edith Nickerson answered the front door.

“Nancy!” she said, stepping back to allow Nancy entrance, “it’s so nice to see you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nickerson, for letting me stop by to speak with you about the Coleman case.”

“It’s me who should thank you, Nancy,” replied Mrs. Nickerson, “the family is grateful that you’re taking the case.”

Ned’s parents had always been wonderful to Nancy. They treated her as if she was the daughter they never had. Over time, Nancy had grown to love Mrs. Nickerson, so seeing the hurt and sadness reflected in the older woman’s eyes was extremely distressing. But if Edith Nickerson was angry at Nancy for rejecting her son, her behavior toward the young detective didn’t show it. 

“We’ll sit on the sun porch, if you don’t mind,” said Mrs. Nickerson, leading the way through the house. “It’s such a beautiful day today.”

As Nancy sat down, Ned’s mother poured them both a glass of lemonade.

“Well, now,” said Edith Nickerson, “Where shall I begin. Has your father told you anything about the case?”

“Yes, he gave me the general facts but no details,” Nancy began, “perhaps we could start by my asking you some questions. Would that be O.K.?”

“Certainly,” smiled Mrs. Nickerson, “ask away!”

“William Coleman was your great uncle,” asked Nancy, “is that correct?”

“Yes,” answered Edith Nickerson, “he was my grandfather’s brother.”

“Is the Coleman family originally from Mapleton?”

“No. Originally, we’re from Boston, but my great grandparents moved here when their children were very young,” replied Mrs. Nickerson. “I believe my grandfather was only five years of age which would make William around seven.”

“So, William was older than your grandfather?” asked Nancy.

“Yes. In fact, William was the oldest child in the family.” 

“Having the oldest child be wrongly accused of murder,” said Nancy softly, “and then disappear without a trace, would certainly take a toll on the Coleman family.”

“Absolutely,” replied Edith, “they weren’t sure whether they would be shunned by society and forced to leave town. But, in the end, everyone was very sympathetic and understanding. The Coleman’s have always been well regarded in Mapleton, but you can never tell when scandal is involved.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” said Nancy, nodding.

“Which is why we would love it if you could solve our little mystery, Nancy,” said Ned’s mother, smiling, “it has plagued us for generations. It’s time we find out the truth of what happened!”

“Well, I’ll try my very best, Mrs. Nickerson,” replied Nancy, “but I’m not sure if I will be of any help. After all, it happened so very long ago.”

Edith Nickerson held her glass of lemonade tightly and said, smiling, “well, if anyone can solve the case, it will be you, Nancy.”

Looking down at her feet, Nancy blushed slightly before raising her head to look at Ned’s mother.

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” she replied, “can you tell me how long William and Anna dated?”

“Several months, I believe, according to the family stories, although I’m not sure one could call it ‘dating’,” answered Mrs. Nickerson.

“What do you mean?” asked Nancy.

“Well, you see, Anna Miller was very attractive and had several admirers,” said Edith, “she ‘stepped out’ with at least two other gentlemen during the time she was seeing William Coleman.”

“I see,” said Nancy, thoughtfully, “my father described them as being inseparable, so I assumed that she only saw William.”

“Being inseparable is perhaps an exaggeration although, from their letters, one can see that she definitely preferred William.”

“You have their letters?” asked Nancy, suddenly very excited.

“I don’t,” Edith Nickerson replied, “but I have seen them. They’re beautiful letters written in old fashion handwriting. I believe they’re stored in a box up in my mother’s attic. I will call her in a minute and ask her if she has them. Perhaps you and Ned can take a ride over there and do some rummaging? Ned’s grandmother always enjoys seeing you both,” she added with a smile.

“Oh, Mrs. Nickerson! That would be wonderful if it can be arranged!” exclaimed Nancy, “the letters might contain some valuable information! In the meantime, please tell me everything you know about your great uncle.”

“Well, family stories say that he was handsome, well liked, and easy going.” said Edith, thoughtfully, “he was sensitive and kind, the kind of young man that would rescue stray animals or rush to the aid of a neighbor. He loved to paint and was pretty good at it. His favorite subject was the river. When not working in his father’s office, he would spend hours on the riverbank painting away.” Edith Nickerson smiled at the memory.

“I have two of his paintings hanging in the living room,” she continued, “the one on the east wall and the one over my writing desk. You remember seeing them, don’t you Nancy?”

“Yes,” Nancy recalled, “I do remember them. I’ll have to take another look now that I know that William Coleman is the artist!”

“Rumor has it that he also painted at least two portraits of Anna. One small in size but the other is full length and apparently caused quite a scandal with her family,” chuckled Edith, “her father was quite upset when he thought that she had been posing for the painting. However, Anna had no idea of its existence as William had painted her entirely from memory. Once he explained this to her father, and presented it to the family as a gift, they were so pleased with it that it hung over their fireplace for years. It’s supposed to be an exceptional work of art and a very accurate depiction of its subject.”

Nancy smiled. How wonderful it would be to find the paintings. She would love to see what the mysterious Anna Miller looked like.

“Have you ever seen either painting,” asked Nancy, hopefully.

“No, after Anna’s murder, there was no further interaction between the Coleman or Miller family. Within three months, the Miller’s packed up and moved to River Heights. They would have taken the large painting with them. I believe that Anna is buried there in the city’s main cemetery.”

Nancy made a mental note to go to the cemetery, soon, to see if she could find the grave.

“We believe that William may have taken the smaller painting with him when he disappeared since it was never found among the belongings he left behind. Most likely, he would have wanted something to remember her by,” remarked Edith.

“My father told me that William walked out of the court house never to be seen again,” said Nancy, “is this correct? Did the family have any idea where he went or what happened to him?”

“It is true that the family never saw him again after his trial but there is indication that he may have stopped by his house to pack a small bag and gather some travel money,” Edith replied, then added, “about four weeks after his disappearance, a package arrived for my grandfather. It was from William and contained a brief note that said that he was fine, and no one should worry about him. He had started a new life ‘in familiar surroundings’, which some believe meant that he went back to Boston.”

Nancy nodded in agreement. Even though he had left there as a child, it might be more familiar to him than any other place. This could be her first clue.

Edith continued, “the really interesting thing was that the package also contained the beautiful engagement ring that was meant for Anna. His note indicated that he hoped his brother, Paul, my grandfather, would give the ring to his future wife and, perhaps, after that, it would be passed down through generations of Coleman’s. I believe he said something about it honoring his eternal love for Anna, or something like that. Very romantic.”

She paused, turning her head to gaze out at the back yard. Then, sighing, Edith Nickerson added, “and that was the last anyone ever heard from him. I’m glad to report that the Coleman Ring, as we now call it, HAS been passed down through the generations. You may have noticed it, at one time, on my mother’s finger.”

Nancy did remember seeing the ring on Grandmother Coleman’s finger. It was simply gorgeous, the most beautiful engagement ring she had ever seen. So, she thought, this is the famous Coleman Ring! How very interesting! 

“I see, Mrs. Nickerson, that you are not wearing the ring,” Nancy replied, “did you not like it?”

Edith Nickerson looked down at her left hand at the engagement ring that was nestled with her wedding band.

“It is traditional for the Coleman men to offer the engagement ring to their intended. The ring went from my grandparents to my father, John Coleman, who presented it to my mother. As a Coleman woman, I had an option. I could wear it when I got engaged to Ned’s father or accept the one offered by him. I choose to wear James’s ring although, I must confess, it was a very difficult decision,” said Edith, chuckling.

“Well, then, I can’t wait to see it again on Grandmother Coleman’s finger when we go for our visit,” Nancy replied, smiling.

Startled, Edith exclaimed, “Oh! Er….my mother is no longer wearing the ring. It’s been passed down ...um...oh, there’s the telephone! Please excuse me for one moment.”

As Mrs. Nickerson left to answer the phone, Nancy took the opportunity to venture into the Nickerson living room to study William Coleman’s paintings. Having spent so much time in the room, she knew the paintings well. However, this time she looked at them with fresh eyes. They were, indeed, very good. Not masterpieces but respectable enough. William had chosen the same location along the Muskoka River for both paintings, although one was painted in Spring while the other depicted Autumn. 

Nancy knew the spot very well. It was where a large boulder jetted out into a well-worn path along the riverbank. The boulder, itself, was a great perch in which to sit and look out onto the water. She and Ned loved walking the riverbank path and the boulder was one of their favorite spots to rest. Looking at the paintings, she could imagine William walking the same path with Anna. Was the boulder their favorite place as well? How far was it from the place where Anna had died?

Nancy glanced around the room. She could not begin to count the number of hours she and Ned had spent here, talking, laughing, snuggling, falling in love. She picked up a photograph that was sitting on the fireplace mantel. It was of her and Ned. It had been taken in a studio by a professional photographer in celebration of their third year together. They were in the traditional “couple’s pose”, with Nancy sitting between Ned’s legs, her back pressed against his chest, and his arms loosely wrapped around her waist. It was a very good picture of them, and Ned had intended to keep it with him while at Emerson. However, his mother had loved it so much that she had persuaded him to keep it on the fireplace mantel. 

“I hope that Ned and I are okay,” Nancy wondered to herself, returning the picture to its place just as Edith Nickerson entered the room.

“Ah, there you are!” exclaimed Edith, “that was my mother on the phone. It’s all set. She expects to see you and Ned tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. She also told me that you’re welcome to look through her attic and tear apart anything you want!”

Tomorrow at ten. Nancy could hardly wait!


	3. Chapter 3

“Your honor,” began the prosecuting attorney, “it is a fact, well known, that the defendant loved Miss Anna Miller and intended to ask for her hand in marriage,” were the words written in the transcript of the Coleman trial. 

Her father had obtained a copy and handed it to Nancy upon his return home from the office that evening. The document was several pages in length, handwritten, and a bit faded, but still legible. It was dated September 10th, 1875.

Nancy was reading the transcript aloud. They were seated around the dining room table, having just finished dessert, and Hannah had stayed to listen. The dirty dishes could wait.

“It is also a fact, that Miss Miller never stated openly to friends her feelings concerning Mr. William Coleman or her desire to marry him. The state contends that she rejected Mr. Coleman’s advances and, being scorned, he flew into a rage and murdered her.”

Nancy raised her eyebrows in question, glancing up at her father, but Mr. Drew just shrugged his shoulders.

“The state will enter into evidence, testimony from Dr. Henry Winfield, the physician who examined the body of Miss Miller, Bobby Goddard, who was called on by William Coleman to go back to town and retrieve the doctor, and Mr. Harrell Cunningham, a citizen of Mapleton who assisted Dr. Winfield in tearing Mr. Coleman from the body of Miss Miller.”

“Objection!” shouted the defense attorney, “the defense objects to the embellished words of my esteemed colleague, Mr. Martin, in describing the actions of Mr. Cunningham’s interaction with Mr. Coleman!”

“Sustained,” said the judge, “Mr. Martin, please be careful in the use of embellishments.”

Carson Drew and Hannah chuckled, as Nancy continued reading. 

“We maintain, your honor, that the defendant not only had the motive, as we have just described, but also the opportunity. Miss Miller and Mr. Coleman often walked together down the riverbank path and she would not have anticipated the attack. When young Bobby came upon the scene, Mr. Coleman sent him for a doctor so that he could finish off Miss Miller!” 

“Your honor, please!” wailed Mr. Goodson, the defense attorney.

“Embellishments, again, counselor?” asked the judge.

“Yes, your honor,” replied Mr. Goodson.

“The prosecutor will refrain, once again, from the use of embellishments,” warned the judge, “I’m not going to warn you again, Bob.”

“My apologies to the court, your honor,” responded Mr. Martin, with a nod, “that’s all from the prosecution.”

“Mr. Goodson, it’s time for your opening argument for the defense,” said the judge.

“Thank you, your honor,” replied Mr. Goodson, “the defense recognizes the prosecution’s claim that Mr. William Coleman was in love with Miss Miller. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see that. We do plan to introduce evidence that Miss Miller did, in fact, return Mr. Coleman’s affections. We even have proof that she wrote of her wish to accept the defendant’s proposal, should he ask. But, even if Miss Miller did not, for some reason, deem herself ready to marry Mr. Coleman when they took their riverbank walk, by no means does this constitute a reason for murder. Women turn down men all the time!” 

Pausing, Nancy thought of Ned. She could not imagine that he would lay a finger on her, much less murder her, over her rejections of his proposals. Ned? It was unthinkable! But was his Uncle William capable of such a crime? 

She looked up to find her father and Hannah looking over at her, waiting for her to continue reading.

“Are you O.K., Nancy?” asked her father, “would you like me to take over?”

“No, Dad, I’m fine,” replied Nancy, and she returned to the transcript.

“We will enter into evidence, eye witness accounts that Miss Miller stepped out with other young men, all of whom could have committed the crime!” said Mr. Goodson.

“Objection,” shouted the prosecuting attorney, jumping to his feet, “your honor, we are not here to try others for a crime we attest was committed by the defendant.

“Overruled,” stated the judge.

“Lawyers just love it when they’re overruled,” said Mr. Drew, sarcastically.

“We will also enter into evidence,” Nancy continued reading, “testimony of friends and family who will speak, unequivocally, to the outstanding character of my client. And finally, your honor, we will enter into evidence, the engagement ring, expensive as it is beautiful, to prove to the court the honorable intentions of the defendant. After all, would a young man, who has such a high regard for his lady love as to warrant him purchasing such an expensive ring, fly into a rage and kill her?”

“Well, Mr. Goodson, that’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it?” replied the judge, rather dryly. 

“Sounds like the judge isn’t going to put up with any nonsense,” said Hannah.

Mr. Drew smiled and nodded.

“The defense has completed our opening arguments, your honor,” said Mr. Goodson.

“Before we proceed with the evidence,” said the judge, “I want it entered into the record that the defendant, Mr. William Coleman, has asked that he be permitted to waive his right to a jury trial. Is this correct, Mr. Coleman?”

“Yes, sir,” answered William Coleman.

“Waiving your right to have your case decided by a jury is highly unusual, Mr. Coleman, considering the circumstances” said the judge, “are you absolutely sure that you wish to waive this right?”

“Yes, your honor,” responded William.

“And have the counsel for the prosecution and the defense agreed to Mr. Coleman waiving his right to a jury trial?” asked the judge.

“Yes, your honor,” said Mr. Martin and Mr. Goodson, in unison.

“Why would William do such a thing, Dad?” asked Nancy, looking in puzzlement at her father.

“He may have wanted to keep the notoriety of such a trial as limited as possible to save his family’s reputation. Or, it’s possible, that his attorney felt that the judge might be more favorable in letting William go free than that of a jury of his peers,” said Carson Drew, “juries can often be prejudicial against the accused, especially in a small town that Mapleton was in the 1870’s.”

Nancy nodded. “Still, he was taking an awful chance. He would have been executed had he been found guilty.”

“It doesn’t sound as though he really cared about the outcome, Nancy,” replied her father, with a knowing look in his eye.

“Meaning, he didn’t care whether he lived or died,” said Nancy, softly, “poor William.”

Nancy went back to reading. The transcript noted that the prosecutor, Mr. Martin, started the case by describing how William had gone to the Muskoka River to confront Anna Miller after discovering that she was not waiting for him at her home.

“We contend that Miss Miller was trying to hide from Mr. Coleman, perhaps figuring that he wished to propose to her once again,” said Mr. Martin, “and when he did not find her at home, he became angry and followed her.”

“It’s interesting how a simple walk along the river can be twisted into something so evil,” sighed Hannah. 

The transcript went on to describe facts that Nancy had already been told by her father and Mrs. Nickerson. William was found holding the dying Anna in his arms and had told the nine year old Bobby Goddard to go for a doctor. When the doctor arrived, he found that Anna was already dead. He noted the bump on her forehead and the blood coming from her mouth.

“Were you the one who performed the autopsy on Miss Miller, Doctor?” asked Mr. Martin.

“Well, yes…er… I mean, I did only a cursory autopsy on the victim,” replied Dr. Winfield.

“Why only a cursory autopsy?” asked the prosecutor.

“Because the state coroner usually does all of the autopsies for this region,” said the doctor, slightly embarrassed, “but he wasn’t available and sent a message that I should go ahead and do it. But, I’m just a simple country doctor.”

“And a good one, I’m sure, Doctor Winfield. Your witness,” said Mr. Martin to Mr. Goodson.

“Dr. Winfield,” began Mr. Goodson, “when you say that you are a simple country doctor, what exactly does that mean?”

“It means that I usually handle cases of measles and indigestion,” said the nervous doctor.

“I’m sure you’ve delivered a baby or two in your time,” asked the defense counsel with a smile.

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Doctor Winfield proudly, “I’ve delivered just about every citizen in Mapleton!”

“Including me,” replied Mr. Goodson, “and Mr. Martin over there.”

“Objection!” shouted Mr. Martin.

“To what?” asked the judge, “the fact that you were born or that Doctor Winfield was the one who delivered you?”

The Drews and Hannah burst out laughing. “At least the judge has a sense of humor,” commented Nancy, before she returned to reading.

“Your honor,” interjected Mr. Goodson, “I mean no disrespect. I’m only trying to ascertain the qualifications of the doctor in performing an autopsy.”

“Overruled,” ruled the judge, but added, “but be mindful not to stray too far, Mr. Goodson.”

“Certainly, your honor,” replied the attorney. “Now, Doctor Winfield, how many autopsies have you performed before the cursory one you did on Miss Miller?”

“Why, none,” replied the doctor.

“And can you tell us what is means to perform a cursory autopsy,” asked Mr. Goodson.

“Well, sir,” replied Doctor Winfield, “it means that I looked over the body and made some notes on what I saw.”

“Ah oh!” exclaimed Carson Drew, “here it comes.”

Nancy was shocked. “He never did a proper autopsy, Dad! Just an exam and most likely a very superficial one at that!”

Her father nodded in agreement. 

“So, you never cut through the skin?” and, at this, Mr. Goodson suddenly stopped and looked around the room. He then said to the judge, “your honor, you may wish to give the ladies in attendance the opportunity to step from the courtroom as they may find the following testimony a bit distressing.”

“Quite right, Mr. Goodson,” said the judge, looking around the courtroom, “any ladies who wish to step outside should do so now.”

A few moments must have elapse because the judge’s next statement was “let the record show that no ladies have chosen to leave the room. You may proceed, Mr. Goodson.”

“Doctor Winfield,” resumed the defense attorney, “isn’t it customary, during an autopsy, for the physician to remove skin, and organs, of the deceased in order to look inside the body for the cause of death.”

“Yes, usually,” replied Dr. Winfield, “but I didn’t have to do that. I could see the large knot on her head. That’s what killed her!”

“There’s no other way in which Miss Miller could have died?”

“Not that I could see,” said the determined Doctor.

“How interesting!” replied the attorney, “and as you have stated, you’re just a simple country doctor. No more questions, your honor.”

“Do you wish re-direct, Mr. Martin?” asked the judge.

“Indeed, I do, your honor!” replied the prosecutor, “Doctor Winfield, how long have you practiced medicine?”

“Thirty-five years,” said the doctor.

“Thirty-five years,” repeated Mr. Martin, “quite a long time. In that time, have you ever treated patients who have knots on their heads?” 

“Yes, plenty,” said the doctor, smiling.

“And would you say that this injury is serious?”

“Not usually if it’s just from a tumble or you walked into something,” stated Doctor Winfield.

“Yes, I see,” said Mr. Martin, “how about if someone received a severe blow from a blunt instrument delivered by an enraged individual?”

“Objection!” shouted Mr. Goodson, “prosecution is leading the witness.”

“Overruled,” said the judge, “you may answer the question, Doctor.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Doctor Winfield, “that could be very serious, indeed!”

“Could such a blow result in death?” asked Mr. Martin.

“Yes, absolutely,” replied the physician.

“No more questions,” said Mr. Martin.

“Your honor, may I ask one question on re-direct?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“Yes, proceed,” answered the judge.

“Doctor Winfield,” began the defense attorney, “what was your basis in determining that the bump on Miss Miller’s head was severe enough to indicate that she had received a blow forceful enough to kill her, when you did not remove the skin and the skull to see if there was a subdural hematoma on the brain or even a fracture of the skull?”

“I based it on my thirty-five years of medical practice,” answered the embarrassed doctor, defensively.

“Yes, as a country doctor who has never performed an autopsy,” replied Mr. Goodson.

“Your honor!” started Mr. Martin.

“No more questions,” finished Mr. Goodson.

Carson Drew was chuckling. “An excellent attorney!” he said.

“What’s a subdural hematoma?” asked Hannah

“It’s when blood pools in the brain,” explained Mr. Drew, “it would certainly have proven that Miss Miller received a blow significant enough to kill her.”

The transcript continued with statements from witnesses called to the stand from both sides of the case. 

“Miss Evans,” asked Mr. Martin, “how long had you known the deceased?”

“The who?” replied Miss Evans.

“Miss Miller,” Mr. Martin clarified, patiently.

“Oh, years and years,” answered Miss Evans, “we were in grade school together.”

“So, a few years, then,” said Mr. Martin, smiling. Miss Evans giggled. “Did Miss Miller ever mention Mr. Coleman,” asked the prosecutor.

“Yes,” replied Miss Evans, “she did once or twice. She told me that he had taken her to the ice cream parlor and out walking.”

“Did Miss Miller ever tell you that Mr. Coleman wished to marry her?”

“No,” replied the witness, “she never said. But everyone knew that he wanted to ask her.”

“Is that so,” remarked Mr. Martin.

“Yes,” Miss Evans replied, “but I think that Anna liked Marcus better.”

“By Marcus, do you mean Mr. Marcus Sinclair?” asked Mr. Martin.

“Yes, he’s sitting right over there!” exclaimed Miss Evans.

“And do you think that Mr. Coleman would have been mad if he had known that Anna liked Mr. Sinclair?”

“Objection!” shouted Mr. Goodson.

“Sustained,” ruled the judge.

“Let me rephrase the question,” said Mr. Martin, “Miss Evans, did Anna Miller ever tell you that Mr. Coleman would be angry if he knew that she was going out with Mr. Sinclair?”

“No, she never said,” replied Miss Evans, sighing.

“I have no further questions of this witness,” said Mr. Martin, quickly.

Mr. Goodson’s witnesses for the defense spoke of William Coleman’s gentle nature, his love of animals, his respect around the community, his excellent work at his father’s firm, and his deep love for Anna Miller.

“It was no secret that Mr. Coleman loved my sister,” said Sarah Barnes, “and I know that she loved him very much.”

“And how do you know that, Mrs. Barnes?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“Because my sister and I were very close,” she replied, “we spoke often of it. Anna loved William and hoped that he would ask her to marry him one day. Besides, I have this letter.”

“Your honor, I wish to place in evidence this letter from Miss Anna Miller to her sister, Mrs. Sarah Barnes. It is dated Sept 2nd, 1875 and was written during the time that Miss Miller was seeing Mr. Coleman.”

“I have no objection, your honor, to the letter being entered into evidence,” stated Mr. Martin.

“The letter is entered into evidence as number A -1,” stated the judge, “please continue Mr. Goodson.”

“Thank you, your honor,” said Mr. Goodson, “Mrs. Barnes, will you read the contents out loud to the court please?”

“The entire letter?” asked Sarah Barnes.

“Yes, please,” replied the attorney.

“Dear Sarah,” read Mrs. Barnes, “it’s been simply miserable weather today. Cloudy with much rain. It is not helping my cold at all. Thankfully, I have mother’s honey tea to ease this terrible cough of mine. I hope that you are enjoying better weather in New York City. How I miss you! You’ve only been gone for two weeks but already it seems like two years! I am fortunate to have my dear William with me most days to ease my missing you!

Dear William! Can you believe that such a wonderful man would love me? He tells me often, which is good because I’m not sure that I would believe it! I’m afraid it causes me to blush, though. You know what a blusher, I am!

Next Saturday, he wants to take me for our favorite walk down the riverbank path and I have a feeling that he might ask me to marry him. I have it on good authority that he has purchased a beautiful engagement ring! Or course, I don’t care about a ring. He could slip a strand of twine on my finger and I would still be in heaven! How I love him so. To be Mrs. William Coleman. Can you imagine? Of course, I will say yes, yes, yes!

I hope to be rid of this cold by then. It wouldn’t do to be coughing during a proposal, would it?

I will write soon to let you know when to start planning the engagement party! 

Your loving sister, Anna.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes, for sharing that with us,” said Mr. Goodson, “I know that it can’t be easy for you.”

“I loved my sister very much, Mr. Goodson,” replied Mrs. Barnes, “her death has been quite a blow to our family.”

“Indeed,” answered Mr. Goodson, “now if I may ask, did your sister see other gentlemen while she was stepping out with Mr. Coleman.”

“Early on, yes,” replied Mrs. Barnes, “Mr. Sinclair took her twice to the tearoom in River Heights and Mr. Todd took her out walking on at least three occasions.”

“Would that be Mr. Rufus Todd?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Barnes.

“Did your sister have any particular feelings for either of these men,” Mr. Goodson asked, “was she fond of them?”

“She was fond of Mr. Todd but not so much of Mr. Sinclair,” said Anna’s sister.

“Why did she accompany Mr. Sinclair to the River Heights tearoom if she didn’t care for him?”

“She once told me that he had a frightful temper and that, although he had never been particularly mean to her, she admitted to being somewhat afraid of him,” said Mrs. Barnes.

“I see,” replied Mr. Goodson, “did her relationship with Mr. Todd and Mr. Sinclair change when she started stepping out with Mr. Coleman?” 

“Yes, most definitely,” answered Mrs. Barnes, “once Anna realized that she was in love with William, she declined all invitations from other gentlemen.”

“Just one more question, if you please Mrs. Barnes,” said the attorney, “how old was Anna Miller when she died?”

“My sister was just twenty,” answered Mrs. Barnes, sadly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes,” said Mr. Goodson, “I have no more questions.”

Just twenty, thought Nancy, lifting her head from the transcript, and glancing at her father. Mr. Drew returned her look and shook his head. Nancy, herself, had just turned twenty. 

“Here, let me take over reading the last few pages of the testimony,” said her father, reaching for the document, “you must be getting tired.”

Nancy handed him the transcript and Mr. Drew started reading. It was the testimony of William Coleman, himself, who had just been called to the stand by the prosecutor.

“Objection, your honor!” said Mr. Goodson, “my client cannot be compelled to testify!”

“It’s OK, Ed, I don’t mind,” uttered William Coleman.

“But you don’t understand, William,” his attorney warned.

“He wants to testify, your honor,” exclaimed Mr. Martin, “I say he should be given the chance to state his case.”

“Mr. Coleman,” said the judge, “are you aware that whatever you say here could be used against you?”

“Yes, sir,” said William.

“You could jeopardize your own case?” tried the judge, again.

“Yes, sir,” answered William, “I don’t care about that.”

“Well then,” said the judge, “let the record show that Mr. William Coleman, the defendant, has chosen to take the stand.”

“Would you please state your full name for the court,” read Carson Drew from the transcript, “William James Edmund Coleman.”

“And please state your age,” said the prosecutor.

“Twenty-two,” replied William Coleman.

“And your address, if you please, Mr. Coleman?” asked Mr. Martin.

“642 Willow Street, Mapleton, Illinois,” replied the defendant.

“On the afternoon of Saturday, September 5th, just five days ago, did you venture to the Muskoka riverbank path in search of Miss Anna Miller?” asked Mr. Martin.

“Yes sir, I did,” answered William.

“And what was your purpose in seeking her?” asked the prosecutor.

“I wanted to ask her for her hand in marriage,” whispered William.

“Please speak up, sir, so the court may hear you,” said Mr. Martin, “please repeat your last comment. What was your purpose in seeking Miss Miller?”

“To ask her for her hand in marriage,” repeated William Coleman, loudly.

“Thank you, Mr. Coleman,” replied Mr. Martin, “That’s loud enough. Now, sir, did you find Miss Miller?”

“Yes, sir,” answered William.

“And did you ask her for her hand in marriage?” asked Mr. Martin.

“No, sir.”

“Why not, Mr. Coleman?” asked Mr. Martin, “that was your primary purpose in going to find Miss Miller by the river, was it not?”

“It was, sir,” replied William, “but I never got the chance. When I finally found Anna, she was hurt and lying on the ground among the trees.”

“So, she wasn’t dead, yet?” said Mr. Martin.

“No sir,” replied William, softly.

“You hadn’t quite finished, yet,” slipped in Mr. Martin.

“No sir,” said William.

“Objection!” shouted Mr. Goodson, jumping to his feet. “Your honor, I strongly object!”

“My apologies to the court, your honor,” responded a smiling Mr. Martin, quickly, “I was referring to the marriage proposal, not the killing!”

“Your honor!” wailed Mr. Goodson, “this is highly prejudicial!”

“I acknowledge your objection, Mr. Goodson,” replied the judge, “and for the record, promise you that the prosecutor’s last line of questioning will not influence my decision. However, I must tell you, Mr. Martin, that if a jury had been present, I would have thrown out this case!”

“Understood, your honor,” Mr. Martin said, with a slight bow to the judge, “I have no further questions for the defendant but, of course, reserve my right to re-direct.”

Nancy had been resting her head in her hands as she listened to her father read, but now she lifted her chin and said, “Dad, that was rather underhanded of Mr. Martin, don’t you think?” 

“He’s just trying to do his job, Nancy. This is a murder case, and a rather high profile one. He needs a conviction and William Coleman is his best bet.”

Nancy raised her eyebrows and gave her father a doubtful look. “Dad,” she replied.

Carson Drew sighed and then grinned. “Well, let’s just say this isn’t a tactic I would ever use.” He turned back to the transcript. It was Mr. Goodson’s turn to question William Coleman.

“Mr. Coleman,” began Mr. Goodson, and then continued gently, “William, please tell the court how you met Miss Miller.”

“I met Anna when she accompanied her father into my family’s business. Mr. Miller was seeking to engage our bookkeeping services,” answered William.

“What was your first impression of Miss Miller?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“That she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen,” replied William.

Transcriptionist Note: Soft laughter and low conversation heard in courtroom. Judge Harvelle gavels for silence.

“Did you speak with Miss Miller at that time,” continued Mr. Goodson.

“No,” answered William, “one of our clerks received the Millers, although I don’t recall Anna speaking at all. In fact, I’m sure she didn’t because I would have remembered the sound of her voice if she had.”

“Why do you say that, William,” asked Mr. Goodson.

“Because she had the voice of an angel,” said William softly.

Transcriptionist Note: Judge Harvelle gavels for silence. 

“William, would it perhaps be correct to say that you fell in love with Anna Miller the very moment you saw her?”

“Yes,” replied William.

Nancy, again, thought of Ned. He had often remarked that he had fallen in love with her at first sight. Although flattered, she had never truly believed him. Her detective’s brain was just too rational. Now they were reading the same words stated in an official court record by his great, great, Uncle William. Maybe this was just a Coleman thing?

“What happened next, William,” Mr. Drew was reading Mr. Goodson’s question.

“Well, sir,” answered William, “my father asked me to walk over to the Miller house with some documents for Mr. Miller to sign.”

“Isn’t it more accurate to say that you volunteered to take the documents over to Mr. Miller yourself as this is a chore usually done by a clerk,” said Mr. Goodson.

“Well, yes, it probably is more accurate to say that,” William responded.

“At that first meeting at the Miller home, did you speak with Anna Miller?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you say to Miss Miller during that first meeting,” asked Mr. Goodson.

“I asked her if she would consider accompanying me to the ice cream parlor the next afternoon,” replied William.

“And she agreed to go with you?” 

“Yes,” answered William.

“Were you aware that Miss Miller was also stepping out with two other gentlemen, a Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Todd?”

“Yes,” nodded William, “but that didn’t stop me from asking Anna to step out with me. You’d have to expect a beautiful woman like Anna to have several suitors.”

“Of course,” smiled Mr. Goodson, “did Mr. Sinclair or Mr. Todd ever become angry with you or Miss Miller concerning your relationship? Were they ever jealous?”

“No, not that I can say,” replied William, “I know Rufus…I mean, Mr. Todd very well. We’re good friends and we’ve never had a cross word between us.”

“How about Marcus Sinclair?”

“I don’t know Mr. Sinclair very well. Hardly at all, really,” said William, “he’s a client of our firm and he’s always been pleasant enough with us. However, it’s known around town that he has a very bad temper.”

“Objection!” exclaimed Mr. Martin.

“Sustained,” ruled the judge.

“Did you and Anna Miller see each other often after that first visit to the ice cream parlor?” Mr. Goodson moved on to ask.

“Yes, nearly every day.”

“Besides going to eat ice cream, what other places did you take Miss Miller?”

“Well, sir, we went a few times to the tearoom in River Heights, and once or twice to the general store, but mostly we took long walks,” answered William.

“Long walks, you say?” replied Mr. Goodson, “and did you have a favorite route that you took for your long walks?”

“Yes, we enjoyed walking down the riverbank path along the Muskoka River.”

“On the day that Miss Miller was killed, did you plan on taking her for one of these long walks down the riverbank path to ask her to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“It is my understanding that, in preparation for making the proposal, you asked your father for a rather large loan in order to purchase an expensive engagement ring,” said Mr. Goodson, “is that correct?”

“Yes,” confirmed William, “I had seen the ring in the jeweler’s shop, along with two others that interested me. Although I liked all three rings, the one I fancied the most was the most expensive one. I loved Anna very much and wanted the best for her. I knew that she would love any ring I gave her, but I felt that she deserved the best money could buy. Unfortunately, the best was more than I could afford.”

“So, you went to your father for a loan,” said his attorney, “what made you so sure that your father would give you the money?”

“My father liked Anna very much. In fact, my entire family really liked her and they were thrilled when they learned that I planned to ask for her hand,” replied William, “my father told me that he would help me in anyway he could so when I asked him for the loan, he not only agreed but came to the jewelers to help me pick out a ring. When I showed him all three, he agreed with me that the expensive ring was the best choice for my Anna.”

“I see,” replied Mr. Goodson, “and did you purchase the ring right then?”

“Yes, right then and there, in my father’s presence!”

“May we see the ring, William?” asked the attorney, “do you have it with you?”

“I believe that gentleman standing over there has it,” replied William, pointing, “he took everything out of my pocket when the police arrested me.”

Transcriptionist Note: Mr. Hall, the court bailiff handed Mr. Goodson a small velvet ring box. Mr. Goodson has opened the box and shown the court that it contains a diamond engagement ring. He has presented it into evidence.

“Is this the engagement ring that you planned to give to Anna Miller?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“Yes,” replied William.

“May it please the court, I would like to enter into evidence, a diamond engagement ring, property of Mr. William Coleman,” said the defense attorney, handing the ring box to the judge.

“If there is no objection?” asked the judge to Mr. Martin.

“The state has no objection,” answered Mr. Martin.

“So, William, on the afternoon of your planned proposal, with this ring in your pocket, what happened when you arrived at the Miller home?” asked Mr. Goodson, “why wasn’t Anna there when you went to meet her for your walk?”

“I don’t know why she wasn’t home, sir. The housekeeper told me that Anna had left quite some time ago and she hadn’t seen her.”

“I see,” said Mr. Goodson, “please continue.”

“I was surprised but I figured that maybe she had an errand to run and meant to meet me at the path. So, I took off down toward the river to find her.”

“And did you find her?”

“Not for quite a while. I had assumed that she would be at the entrance. When she wasn’t there, I started walking down the path and, just as I was about to give up, I noticed her lying along the tree edge,” William said softly.

“To be clear, you noticed her blood droplets first and then found her?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“Objection, leading the witness!” said Mr. Martin.

“Sustained. You will rephrase the question, Mr. Goodson,” said the judge.

“What did you see that led you to discover Miss Miller lying by the edge of the trees?” rephrased Mr. Goodson.

“I looked down and saw tiny droplets that looked like blood, sir,” replied William, “I followed them and found Anna a few feet away.”

“What did you do then, William?” the defense attorney asked gently.

“I took her in my arms and asked her what had happened,” said William.

“So, Miss Miller was alive at that time?”

“Yes,” said William.

“And what did Miss Miller say to you?”

“That she loved me.”

“And that’s all she said, William? Nothing else?”

“Yes, sir. That’s all she said,” William answered softly.

“Did anything happen next?” continued Mr. Goodson.

“I called out for help and Bobby Goddard ran up. I told him to go for the doctor.”

“And did Bobby Goddard go for the doctor?”

“I believe so, sir, because Doctor Winfield showed up about ten minutes later with several of the townsfolk.”

“Did Doctor Winfield start treatment on Miss Miller?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“No, sir, there was no need,” replied William.

“What do you mean, William,” asked the attorney, “why not?”

“Because Anna was already dead,” responded William, “Doc Winfield looked at her and then looked at me and told me it was no use, Anna was dead.”

“What did you do, then?”

“I didn’t believe him. I keep trying to shake her alive. I keep calling Anna, Anna, but it was no use. They took her away from me.”

“Did you kill her, William?” asked Mr. Goodson, “did you kill Anna Miller?”

“No, sir, I did not!” exclaimed William, “but it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter one bit! My Anna is dead, and I don’t want to live anymore! Don’t you understand! Guilty or not guilty, it doesn’t matter because I want to die! Execute me, now! I just want to die!”

“William…I…er...” Mr. Goodson stammered, and then said, “No further questions, your honor.”

“Mr. Martin,” said the judge, “redirect?”

“No, your honor,” replied Mr. Martin, “I have no questions for the defendant.”

“Oh, dear,” said Nancy, as her father paused and looked up from the transcript.

“That didn’t sound good,” said Hannah, “it certainly didn’t help poor Mr. Coleman to break down like that, did it?”

“Certainly not, Hannah,” agreed Mr. Drew, “if fact, the judge could have rightly assumed that William was guilty because an innocent man most likely would have wanted to live so that he could be exonerated.” 

“He was broken-hearted, Dad,” replied Nancy, “surely the judge could see that?”

“Yes, that’s possible,” said her father, “but a judge must rule according to law. There’s no such thing as a broken heart in court, although perhaps there should be,” he added smiling.

Nancy leaned back in her chair and said nothing. She’d seen a Coleman broken heart, first hand. 

“Well now, let’s see,” said Mr. Drew, skimming through the lines of the transcript, “here are the closing arguments, pretty much verbatim of each attorney’s opening arguments. Found with the body. Blood. No proof of identity of killer….hum…. oh, here it is, the judge’s ruling.”

Nancy and Hannah leaned forward, listening intently.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Drew read Judge Harvelle’s words, “the Prosecutor, in representing the State, has presented the case against Mr. William James Edmund Coleman, in the murder of Miss Anna Miller. The prosecution maintains that on the afternoon of September 5th, 1875, Mr. Coleman struck Miss Miller in the head with enough force to intentionally kill her. They entered testimony from eyewitnesses who saw Mr. Coleman holding the body, his clothes exhibiting blood stains. They maintain that Mr. Coleman had a prearranged meeting with Miss Miller at the riverbank path where he willfully took her life. When discovered in the process of killing her, they claim that he stalled for time by chasing young Bobby Goddard away under the ruse of getting a doctor. And, finally, their contention is that, by being left alone with the dying woman, Mr. Coleman was able to complete the task of killing her, and this was borne out when the doctor, and other witnesses, arrived to find Miss Miller deceased. 

The Defense presents quite a different version. They contend that Mr. Coleman and Miss Miller were in love and had hoped to marry. Witnesses have testified that Mr. Coleman spoke openly to them about his plans to propose to Miss Miller and, through a letter sent to her sister, that Miss Miller hoped that she would receive such a proposal from Mr. Coleman. Miss Miller also indicates, through this same letter, that she planned on accepting him. Defense states that this, alone, would exonerate Mr. Coleman because he would have no reason to kill Miss Miller if she accepted his proposal as expected. They also contend that Mr. Coleman would not have invested in the purchase of a very expensive engagement ring if his proclivity was to become so enraged as to strike Miss Miller hard enough to kill her. There is no indication that Mr. Coleman was a violent man, quite the opposite in fact, and there is no proof that he every struck Miss Miller. The defense argues that much has been said about the advantage of isolation in taking a prearranged walk down the riverbank path. However, Mr. Coleman and Miss Miller frequently walked along the Muskoka River with no harm coming to either of them. Finally, it is the contention of the defense that Mr. Coleman was deeply in love with Miss Miller and would have never harmed her in any way.

After careful consideration of all the evidence and testimony of this case, I am now ready to render my verdict. Would the defendant, Mr. William Coleman, please stand. 

It is my ruling that the state did not prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Mr. William Coleman murdered Miss Anna Miller. The state entered no testimony from eyewitnesses who witnessed the murder. There is no proof of motive other than innuendo and hear say. In fact, the prosecution could not prove that Miss Miller’s injury caused her death, outside of the opinions of our own local country doctor, no disrespect intended toward Doctor Winfield, or course. Since the prosecution has the burden of proof in this case, I have no choice but to find the defendant not guilty. You are free to go, Mr. Coleman.” 

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Hannah, clapping her hands.

Nancy and her father smiled. “Unfortunately, poor William Coleman probably suffered punishment outside of the trial even though he was found not guilty,” said Mr. Drew.

“What do you mean?” asked Hannah.

“Well, society, itself, can dole out its own form of punishment. Had he decided to stay, he may have been viewed with suspicion, perhaps even snubbed or ostracized. It may have not been possible for him to continue to work in his father’s business if it meant the firm losing clients. I would say that his reputation, at the very least, most likely suffered,” said Carson Drew.

“And Anna Miller was dead,” mused Nancy, “which was the cruelest punishment of all.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t pick you up at your house, Nancy,” said Ned, over the phone, “I’m running late.”

“What’s the matter, Nickerson,” teased Nancy, “did you over sleep?”

“No, I spent the night in Chicago and am just now catching the train back to River Heights,” explained Ned, “could you pick me up at the train station? We’ll just go from there over to my Grandparents house.”

“Don’t you have to change your clothes, or something, before we go?” asked Nancy.

“No, I shaved and showered at Debbie’s and I always keep spare clothing at the office, just in case,” replied Ned, “I’ve got to go, now, my train is about to leave. See you soon,” and, before Nancy could say anything, he had hung up the phone.

“Debbie?” asked Nancy, in alarm, into the dead phone line.

The train from Chicago was thankfully on time and Nancy had no trouble spotting Ned as he stepped down onto the platform. He wore a tan herringbone sport jacket, crisp white shirt, tieless and open at the neck, and dark slacks. He was carrying a large bag, presumably containing his work clothes. 

In all the years that she had known Ned, she never got accustomed to how utterly handsome he was. Tall, muscular, and square jawed, he was gorgeous, and Nancy often found herself drowning in his soft brown eyes. As he walked along the train platform, he saw her and smiled, causing her stomach to flip-flop, and her pulse to quicken. Ned, she thought to herself, my Ned! 

“Hey Drew,” he said in greeting, but he didn’t kiss her, stooping instead to brush his lips across her forehead. 

“Shall we take your car or mine?” he asked, nodding to hers, which was parked close by and his, which was parked a slight distance away.

“We might as well take mine,” replied Nancy, “it’s closer. We can pick yours up on our way back. Here, just put your case in the trunk.” 

Ned stowed the bag and climbed in behind the wheel as Nancy got in on the passenger side. They were soon travelling down the road on their way to Grandmother Colemans.  
Nancy glanced over at Ned who was concentrating on driving. She had remained quiet for several miles, collecting her thoughts. 

“Ned,” she said, finally.

“Yes?” he replied, smiling at her.

“Who’s Debbie?” she asked.

“Who? Oh, Debbie,” he replied, as if just remembering her name, “she’s the new account’s manager at work. Why do you ask?”

“Well,” said Nancy, “I guess because you shaved and showered at her house this morning and because you didn’t kiss me at the train station.”

“Didn’t I?” remarked Ned, slowing down to make the turn into Mapleton.

“No, you didn’t kiss me,” repeated Nancy, “but you were in Debbie’s shower.”

Ned glanced over at Nancy and, seeing the worry in her eyes, turned the car into a supermarket parking lot and stopped. 

Turning to face her, he took her hand and said, “Nancy, Debbie is new to the company and was struggling with one of our accounts. Her supervisor, Robert Meade, was trying to help her but at the end of the day, he had an appointment and couldn’t stay any later. Although it’s not my department, Bob asked me if I could step in, which I did. It was a very complicated account and it took Debbie and I hours to figure it out. By the time we did, I had missed the last train to River Heights. Since I have no car in Chicago, I was about to head out on foot to the nearest hotel when Debbie offered up her spare room. She called her husband, Ted, and told him that she’d be bringing me home and to put more spaghetti in the pot because we were both starving.”

Ned reached over to tuck a stray strand of Nancy’s hair back behind her ear.

“I set my alarm early so that I could catch the first train this morning. And, yes, in order to save time, I shaved and showered in Debbie’s bathroom and changed into these clothes so that we could get to my grandparent’s house in time… which, by the way, isn’t going to happen if we sit here any longer.”

Relief spread over Nancy and she felt a little silly. She trusted Ned, so why had she reacted as she had over Debbie? Perhaps this new mystery was getting to her.

“Ted, huh?” she said, smiling weakly.

“Yes,” Ned nodded, “he’s Debbie’s husband. A real nice guy.”

“How’s his spaghetti?” Nancy said, attempting levity.

“Not bad,” replied Ned, putting the car in gear, and glancing into the rearview mirror, “but not as good as yours.”

Suddenly, as if remembering something, he switched the gearshift back into park and, leaning toward Nancy, pulled her toward him and gave her a quick but passionate kiss.

“Sorry about the train station,” he said, softly, when they had reluctantly pulled apart, “I guess I was in a rush to get going.”

Nancy smiled fondly at him, “That’s O.K., Nickerson,” she said, “sorry for the cross-examination.”

Ned chuckled and, once again, they were on their way.

They were only five minutes late when they pulled into the Coleman residence, but Ned’s grandmother was already on the porch, waiting for them.

“Hi Grandmother!” exclaimed Ned, stooping down to kiss her and give her a hug.

“You’re late!” cried Mrs. Coleman, “you’ll be late for your own funeral, young man!”

“I had to work late, Grandmother, and just now arrived home on the train. Nancy met me at the station, and we drove right over.”

“Hello, dear,” said Mrs. Coleman, giving Nancy a kiss on the cheek, “it’s so nice to see you again.”

Although she had been there several times, the Coleman house, with its beautifully understated elegance, always seemed to put her at ease. Slightly larger than the Drew home, it had a long entrance hall, with several rooms situated off the sides, and Mrs. Coleman’s lovely garden in view through the rear patio doors.

“Let’s go out and sit in the garden,” said Grandmother Coleman, “it’s a good place to dust off old bones,” she added, chuckling.

As soon as they were settled, with cups of coffee in hand, and muffins on a tray on the table in front of them, Mrs. Coleman said, “So, Nancy, my daughter tells me that you are going to solve the great Coleman family mystery.”

Nancy smiled at Ned’s grandmother. She was very much like her daughter, Edith, Ned’s mother, blunt and to the point. “I’m going to give it a try, Grandmother Coleman. I believe you are in possession of some letters between your husband’s Uncle William and Anna Miller?”

“Yes, I believe they’re in a box in the attic. There should also be several from William to John’s father, who was his younger brother. Edith tells me that you would like to rummage through the attic to try and find them. You’re welcome to do so, of course!”

“Did you ever speak to your father-in-law about his brother William?” Nancy asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Coleman answered, “he died before I married John and became part of the family.” She smiled. “I’d heard the story, of course. The Coleman’s make sure their future spouses hear it before they walk down the aisle. That way, if one can’t bear the scandal, one can always back out.” And then she added, glancing from Ned to Nancy, “in your case, Nancy, you’ve not only been told, but are expected to solve the damn thing.”

Nancy just smiled and said nothing. She was painfully aware of Ned sitting next to her. He also said nothing and was looking down at his hands resting in his lap.

Grandmother Coleman must have sensed that she had hit a nerve because she quickly said, “Well, Nancy, I believe you know where the attic door is located. You should probably start your search before it gets too hot.” 

Nodding, Nancy and Ned put down their coffee cups and stood, turning to walk to the house. 

“Just one moment, Edmund,” said his grandmother, “I’d like a word with you before you join Nancy in the attic.”

Nancy took her cue and walked toward the house. She was just reaching to open the patio doors when she heard Mrs. Coleman say, “Edmund, this travelling back and forth to Chicago from River Heights is simply not practical. Why not sell the house? I have someone who is interested and will give you a good price. I can’t imagine why you bought a house in River Heights in the first place?”

Shocked, but now out of ear shot, Nancy entered the hallway and paused to look back at Ned. She could see by the way he was standing, by how he held his head, that he was upset. Ned was very proud of his little house, or should she say THEIR little house, as he had insisted that she help him pick it out. The unspoken expectation being that this would be their home after they were married. 

She had been the one to put things off and now he was facing pressure from his grandmother, who saw the impractically of owning the house without Nancy being in it. Perhaps he was feeling pressure from his entire family. 

He would never argue with his grandmother, but he was clearly warning her off, because Mrs. Coleman suddenly shrugged her shoulders and looked away.

Ned turned and soon entered the house, joining Nancy at the bottom of the attic steps. Together they climbed up into the large room filled with remnants of the Coleman’s lives.   
There were boxes, pieces of furniture, paintings and pictures, and an assortment of clothing, neatly stacked along the edges of the room.

“I don’t know why my grandparents keep all of this stuff,” Ned remarked gruffly. It was obvious that he was still upset over the conversation with his grandmother. “Most of this should have been thrown away long ago.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Nancy, smiling, “this attic looks a lot more organized than the Drew attic! Besides, attics often hold old secrets just waiting to be found! Let’s start hunting through those boxes over there.”

“Humph,” was all Ned said in reply.

After almost an hour of searching and not finding the letters, Nancy was becoming somewhat frustrated. She and Ned had already opened most of the boxes only to discover old financial records, papers, and dust. Lots of dust. 

Unwilling to give up quite yet, Nancy opened the next box and was amused to find old school pictures of Ned, stored among those of his Coleman cousins.

“Looks like your grandparents kept every single picture of you growing up,” she said, holding up one of Ned at around six years of age. Although minus his two front teeth, young Ned Nickerson was handsome even then, the curly dark hair, soft brown eyes, and gentle expression foreshadowing the handsome grown man standing in front of her now.

“You look adorable. I bet you had girls lining up even back then, Nickerson,” teased Nancy.

He smiled slightly at the picture of his former self but shook his head. “No, I wasn’t very popular,” he remarked, “too shy I think.”

Nancy found that hard to believe but said nothing. Throughout the day, since she had picked him up at the train station, in fact, Ned had been pleasant but somewhat remote. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Except for the kiss in the car, which she almost had to beg him for, he was treating her more like a good friend, affectionate but holding back. Keeping himself in check. Yes, that was it. He was distancing himself from her. 

She decided to ignore it for now although it did create an uncomfortable tension between them which only added to her frustration.

She returned Ned’s picture to the box and was beginning to close the lid when she noticed a smaller box tucked under the pictures. Carefully pushing the school pictures off to one side, she lifted the smaller box out and placed it on the floor. Bending over to examine it closer, she noted that it was rather old. It was red in color, although faded, made of metal, and had a picture of a rose on top. The lid was secured shut by a small lock, which Nancy was sure she could unlock.

“Sweetheart…er…Ned,” she quickly corrected herself as she called over to him, “do you have your pocketknife with you?”

“Yes, I think so,” he replied, reaching into his pocket, “here it is.”

Handing her the knife, Ned sat down on the floor next to her and watched as Nancy expertly picked the lock and carefully opened the lip to the small metal box. They both gasped as they saw a stack of letters, yellowed with age, along with several old newspaper clippings, neatly folded inside.

“You found them, Nancy!” exclaimed Ned, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “let’s bring the box over to the window and take a look!”

Using the afternoon sunlight to help her make out the handwriting, Nancy gently unfolded the first letter, lying on top, and read:

“Dear Paul;

The City of New York is pleasant but is nothing to Mapleton. Perhaps you are amused at what I write but there is something to be said for one’s hometown. The air seems fresher in Mapleton. That of New York’s, foul, no doubt brought forth by industry and horses. However, I must claim that I am out of sorts as I long to return home.

I miss Anna. I miss her smile, the twinkle in her blue eyes, the way she blushes. I am in constant worry that she will agree to marry Rufus Todd before I can get back and secure her affections. Dear brother, she is so wonderful, and so above the likes of me! To be sure, sir, as you know these matters better than I, do you believe I have a chance?

If you should occasion to see her, please send my compliments to her and her fine family. 

Please inform father that I should have the Adams account finalized in the next few days. I plan on returning home by the 20th. 

Your loving brother,

William Coleman” 

Ned chuckled as Nancy refolded the letter and placed it to the side. “William sounds like a hometown guy,” he said.

“Or, he’s too lovesick to enjoy himself in New York,” Nancy said, smiling up at him, “I certainly don’t like being away from you for very long.”

Ned just nodded and gently lifted out the next letter from the stack.

“This one is from Anna to William,” said Ned, handed the letter to Nancy, “here, read it out loud.”

Nancy tipped the letter toward the window and stated reading the words of Anna Miller.

“Dear Mr. Coleman;

I so enjoyed our outing yesterday. The walk down the riverbank path was refreshing, as was your conversation. How wise and well-read you are! Perhaps we can share our reflections on yet another novel soon.

I know that you are very busy with your work, but will you do us the honor of your presence for luncheon at our home on Saturday at 1:00? Mother does wish to see you again.   
Please bring your brother, Paul, as well. We have invited Miss Agnes Porter to join our party. It should be a merry afternoon. 

Your friend,

Anna Miller."

“Certainly not a very romantic letter,” chuckled Ned, “if I were William, I would have been very disappointed over the term ‘your friend’. Not the kind of thing a guy in love wants to hear.”

Nancy smiled. “I agree but I believe social behavior was much more restrictive back in the mid 1800’s. Perhaps Anna is a little more romantic in her other letters. Who is Agnes Porter, I wonder?”

“My great grandmother,” replied Ned.

“Really?” replied Nancy, chuckling, “so I guess Anna’s efforts at matchmaking paid off.”

Ned smiled. “Or my great grandparents had already fallen in love and Anna was just giving them an opportunity to be with each other.”

“Under the watchful eye of Mrs. Miller,” added Nancy, “but I imagine that young people back then would have jumped at any chance to be together.” 

She hadn’t meant anything by the comment but something in Ned’s expression made her shiver. She returned to the letters.

“Ned! Look at this one! It’s William’s final letter to his family. The one your mother was telling me about.”

Ned took the letter and began to read it out loud. Listening to William’s words spoken in Ned’s rich baritone voice, made it almost come to life. Nancy could feel the grief and anguish of its author.

“Dear Brother,” William wrote, “I wish you to know that I am fine. Please do not concern yourself with my well-being. I have found employment in familiar surroundings and harbor no desires to return to Mapleton. I beg you not to trouble yourself with finding me. 

I am giving you Anna’s ring. I do not need it anymore. Anna was the only woman I will ever wish to marry and now she is gone. Someday, dear brother, you may find your own true love. Maybe she is Agnes Porter. Take the ring and use it to procure your new bride. Perhaps the ring will be passed down through generations of Colemans. It will serve to honor the memory of my beautiful Anna and my eternal love for her.

Always, your affectionate brother,

William Coleman."

Tears glistened in her eyes as Ned handed the letter back to her. As she gently returned it to the box, Nancy said, “I’ve got to solve this mystery, Ned, if it’s the last thing I do!”


	5. Chapter 5

She had invited Ned to go to Boston with her that weekend. She hoped to find a trace of William although it had been decades since his disappearance. She couldn’t be sure that he had even relocated to Boston. But, to her surprise, Ned decline to go with her.

“Gee, Nancy,” Ned had said over the phone, “sounds like fun but I have other plans for this weekend.”

“Other plans?” asked Nancy. Ned’s weekend plans usually included her. Had she forgotten some date that they had previously scheduled. “I’m sorry, did I forget something?” she added.

“No, nothing like that,” answered Ned, “an old friend of mine is coming into town and I promised to show him all of the River Height’s hot spots.” She heard him chuckle.

“Sounds like fun,” she replied, “listen, I can change my plans for Boston if you need me too, and…”

“No, it’s O.K., Nancy,” said Ned, “your trip to Boston is important and, besides, you’d probably be bored hanging out with me and Buck. We’ll probably spend most of our time talking about football.”

“Buck?” replied Nancy, “Buck Rodman?” She knew Buck well. He had been Ned’s closest friend when she and Ned first met and they had gone on several double dates together. Buck had married and moved away to Colorado. She and Ned had attended the wedding. She would have loved to see Buck Rodman again but she was clearly being put off.

“Yes, Buck Rodman,” Ned answered, “He called last night and said he would be in town for a few days. Perhaps you can catch up with him if you get back in time.”

“O.K., yes, that sounds great,” Nancy said, though not feeling that it was so great, “tell Buck I said hello, will you?”

“Sure thing, Nancy,” replied Ned, “safe travels.” And, with that, he hung up.

Confused and sad, Nancy returned to her room where the Coleman letters were spread out over her bed. Grandmother Coleman had given her permission to take them home so that she could study them, which she had been doing all morning. She picked up one of the newspaper clippings that were also found in the metal box with the letters, but she was too upset to be able to concentrate.

“What’s wrong with me,” she said to herself, “if Ned wishes to entertain Buck without me, he certainly has a right to do so. Afterall, we’re not married, and even if we were, that doesn’t mean we’d have to do everything together. We’re not joined at the hip, for heaven sake.”

She tried to read the clipping, but her eyes were blurred with tears. She knew that something was wrong between her and Ned, and she had a pretty good idea what it was.

“Instead of moping, why don’t you ask Bess and George to go with you?” suggested Hannah, over lunch. She was referring to Nancy’s best friends, Bess Marvin and her cousin, George Fayne.

“I’m not moping,” she snapped back at Hannah.

Hannah raised her eyebrows and looked at her for a long moment.

“Sorry Hannah,” apologized Nancy, “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I guess I am moping a little,” she added with a weak grin. “Perhaps I should call Bess and George. The trip is bound to be fun with those two along.”

“And maybe they can keep you out of trouble,” said Hannah, “although I don’t have much faith in that. The three of you seem to find trouble no matter where you go.”

Directly after lunch, Nancy called both friends. George immediately accepted the invitation, but Bess had a bad cold and could not go.

“Oh Nancy,” Bess said into the phone, between coughing fits, “I wish I could go but I feel just awful. Please call me as soon as you and George get back and let me know what you find out.”

“I hope you get well soon,” replied Nancy, promising to give her a call upon her return, “and take care of that cough. It sounds terrible.”

Two days later, Nancy and George were in Boston, looking though the Boston Herald’s newspaper archives. During their flight, Nancy had explained the details of the case to George, but both were pretty much at a loss as to how to proceed. Looking through old newspaper articles seemed to be as good a place as any to start.

“Maybe William Coleman got arrested as soon as he arrived,” said George, “or bought some property, or started a business.”

“Something that tells us that he actually came to Boston after he left Mapleton,” agreed Nancy.

It was a long shot. They spent hours gleaning through the papers, only to come up empty handed.

They went to the Boston Public Library where they looked through old property deeds, but, again, nothing. They went to city hall where they searched through marriage and death records to no avail. Totally disheartened, Nancy suggested that they take a break and find a place to have lunch. 

They settled on a pretty little café directly across from a small art gallery. The service was excellent and the sandwiches they ordered delicious and soon the girls found themselves feeling better.

“Let’s walk through the gallery before resuming our investigation,” suggested George, as they paid the check. 

Nancy readily agreed and they walked across the street toward the gallery. “It might be just the thing to clear our minds and give us some new ideas.”

They were met at the door by a pleasant young woman who introduced herself as Angela Merrick, one of the curators of the gallery. As she handed them an informational catalog, she asked if they would like a guided tour.

Nancy looked at George, who shook her head, and said she would prefer to browse the art work at her leisure.

“Please feel free to come back to the front desk should you have any questions,” replied the curator, turning to greet a couple who had just entered behind the girls.

The gallery included paintings from lesser known masters as well as local artists. Nancy and George were impressed by the scope and quality of the collection. 

They entered a room where several landscape and seascape paintings were hanging. One painting, in particular caught Nancy’s eye and she walked over to study it closer. The scene was that of trees lining a tiny path. The path curved and then disappeared, just out of sight from view. In the distance, winding along the path, was a small river. The scene seemed vaguely familiar to Nancy and she called to George. 

“George,” she said, “does this scene look familiar to you?”

At first, George shook her head no. Then she leaned forward to take a closer look. Finally, she said, “why Nancy! That resembles the Muskoka Riverbank path in Mapleton!”

Nancy stepped back away from the painting and took another look. “You’re right, George! It does look like the riverbank path! The view is set further in the distance, but it definitely looks like it.” 

Nancy moved back to the painting and studied it again. Suddenly she gasped and said, “this looks like William Coleman’s work! Ned’s parents have two of his paintings hanging in their livingroom. I would swear that this painting was done by the same artist!”

“But Nancy, look at the signature at the bottom,” sighed George, “it’s signed by someone named Andrew Morrison. The signature is very clear.”

“Yes, you’re right,” agreed Nancy, “but let’s go find Miss Merrick and see if we can get some information on Mr. Andrew Morrison.” 

Fortunately, Angela Merrick was behind the front desk. “Yes, that piece was painted by Andrew Morrison who was a local artist here back in the late 1800’s. He painted that particular piece in 1885.”

“Do you have any more of his work here in the gallery?” asked Nancy.

“Yes, we have three others. Follow me and I’ll show them to you,” said the curator, starting down the hall and towards the same room where Nancy and George had seen the first painting. This time, as they entered the room, Nancy and George saw the other three paintings they had missed in their excitement at seeing the first.

“These were also painted by Mr. Morrison,” she said, “as you can see, the artist was very fond of painting landscapes, primarily wooded areas that included water. 

“Were these painted around the same period as the first one?” asked Nancy

“Well, let’s see,” said the curator, and she flipped open the catalog, “yes, just as I thought. Mr. Morrison’s work spans a period of over twenty years. These four paintings were done between 1885 and 1897.”

That would fit the timeframe, thought Nancy, but that didn’t mean anything given the twenty year span of his work. 

“Do you have any information about Andrew Morrison’s personal life,” asked Nancy, “like where he was born and raised, whether he had ever lived in Illinois, how long did he live in Boston?”

“No, I’m afraid that we know very little about Mr. Morrison, other than what we can see in his work,” sighed Miss Merrick. “We have always believed that he was a local artist. He did work at the Browning Publishing Company as an Illustrator for several decades but the company went out of business about 30 years ago.”

The girls were thanking the curator and turning to leave, when Miss Merrick said, “one moment please, let me see what we have on file.” She left for a moment returning with a small metal box that contained small index cards. “We keep information of where to contact our artists, or in this case, his next of kin, should someone wish to buy a painting, or we need to return a piece of work.” She flipped through the index cards and pulled out Andrew Morrison and said, “well, Mr. Morrison listed no next of kin. All we have on file is his attorney, Mr. Gabe Hunter. Of course, Mr. Hunter died about 35 years ago but the Hunter Law Firm is still in business.”

“Well, I shall write to the Hunter Law Firm should I need any information about Andrew Morrison,” Nancy said to George, as they left the gallery and headed back to their hotel, “but I really think we’ve hit another dead end. Mr. Morrison is an artist who paints very much like William Coleman and that’s all!” she added, sighing.

“Time to go back home to River Heights?” asked George.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” replied Nancy, disappointed.


	6. Chapter 6

“The trip was a complete waste of time,” Nancy said to Ned over the phone. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Ned, “but you knew that it was probably a long shot, right?”

“Yes, but it’s still very disappointing,” replied Nancy, “Ned, I just don’t think I’ll be able to solve this one.”

“Now Nancy, don’t give up hope,” Ned responded, “you’ll find a valuable clue soon, I’m sure! A mystery hasn’t gotten the best of you yet!”

“Well, there’s always a first time,” she replied, and then trying to change the subject, she asked, “so how was your visit with Buck?”

“Not bad,” chuckled Ned, “I dragged them all around River Heights and they seemed to enjoy themselves.”

“They?” asked Nancy, “did Marianne come with him?”

“Ah, no,” answered Ned, a little sheepishly, “his wife couldn’t make it. Buck’s sister came with him. Buck thought that she might like to check out Emerson. She’s in her sophomore year at a college in Chicago and not very happy there. Buck thought that Emerson might be a better fit for her.”

“Well, that’s nice,” replied Nancy, “it’s a great college. Did she like it?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Ned, “but why not ask her yourself. I’m meeting her and Buck at the coffee shop tomorrow morning before taking them to the train station. That’s the reason I called. I thought that you might want to see Buck and meet his sister before they leave. It will be for only an hour but I know you were disappointed when you thought you’d miss seeing him this weekend.”

“Yes, that’s sounds great,” said Nancy, happily. It had been over a week since she and Ned had spent any real time together. Over a week since she’d turned down his proposal and things had become so strained between them. 

“Great! I’ll pick you at 9:00am,” replied Ned, “see you then.” 

As Nancy got ready for bed a few hours later, she glanced at the old newspaper clippings laying on her bedroom writing table.

“I’d almost forgotten about these,” she sighed, “Drew, you’d better pull yourself together and start focusing on this mystery or else you’ll never solve it.”

Climbing into bed and propping herself up on her pillows, she read the newspaper articles. There were three in all, with two covering William’s trial, and the third a follow up after his release. It was this third article that she found the most interesting. The journalist wrote about William Coleman’s disappearance after charges were dismissed against him.   
The article suggested that an innocent man would not have left town, and this made Nancy sigh.

“Public opinion finds him guilty no matter what he does,” she said to herself. But it was the last few sentences that intrigued her the most.

“Since the release of William Coleman, police are looking into the possibility that someone else murdered the helpless young lady,” she read. “but they have been unable to find other suspects. Mr. Rufus Todd was questioned but could prove that he was in New Jersey making a delivery during the time of the murder. The last suspect, Mr. Marcus Sinclair, also has an alibi as he was in the company of his father, tending to several sick horses on their property during the time that Miss Anna Miller was bludgeoned to death.”

“Nothing like a little sensationalism to sell copy,” sighed Nancy with disgust, “a bump on the forehead isn’t the same as being bludgeoned. No wonder William left town.” And, with that, she turned off the light and fell into a restless sleep.

“Nancy, this is my sister Silvia,” said Buck, the next morning at the coffee shop. She had just received an enthusiastic bear hug from him, that had squeezed the very breath out of her, and now she turned to meet his sister. 

Nancy wasn’t sure what she expected, but she certainly wasn’t prepared for Silvia Rodman. Buck was a nice enough looking young man, but his sister was drop dead gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. She was a little shorter than Nancy, and had long blond hair, soft brown eyes, and a flawless complexion. She had a way of looking at you as if there was nobody else in the universe. 

“Nancy, how nice to finally meet you,” said Silvia, her beautiful smile lighting up the room, “I’ve heard so much about you,” she added, shaking Nancy’s hand.

“So nice to meet you as well,” stammered Nancy, “I hoped you’ve enjoyed your visit?”

“Yes, very much,” replied Silvia, “Ned is an excellent host. I appreciate you lending him to me while you were away.”

All Nancy could think to do was nod. After all, she didn’t own Ned so couldn’t exactly loan him out. However, she was relieved that Silvia acknowledged that she and Ned were at least a couple. 

“It really was no trouble,” said a blushing Ned, pulling out a chair for Nancy, “no trouble at all.”

As they sat enjoying their coffee, Nancy found Silvia Rodman to be a very nice young woman although her attention to Ned was causing much inner conflict for Nancy. She was feeling jealous but wasn’t sure if she had reason to be. Ned, although definitely flattered, and somewhat embarrassed by the attention, wasn’t giving any indication that he was about to dump her for Buck’s sister.

“Ned took us to The River Heights Rocket Club,” said Silvia, “and we had such a wonderful time. The band played all of my favorites and Ned is an excellent dancer, as you, of course, already know.”

“Yes,” replied Nancy, “I do know.”

“And then he drove me over to Emerson,” continued Silvia, “which was so nice of him since my brother got tied up with business and couldn’t take me.”

“You know I’m sorry, Sivvy,” lamented Buck, “these things just work out that way sometimes. At least Ned took you and he knows Emerson better than anyone.”

“Yes, that was very sweet of him,” said his sister, looking over at Ned and flashing him an enchanting smile, causing Ned to blush all over again and subconsciously slip an arm around the back of Nancy’s chair. Once again, Nancy was at a loss as to how she should feel about this. Ned had spent the afternoon alone with the beautiful Silvia, while Nancy was miles away in Boston. She had assumed that Ned would come to Boston with her but he had opted to stay and entertain Silvia and hadn’t told her until the plans had already been made. 

“Wait a minute, Drew,” Nancy said to herself, “his plans were with Buck, not his sister. Did he even know that Silvia would be coming with her brother to River Heights? And, even if he did, was he obligated to tell Nancy? Yes, they had been together for ages but, truth be told, if she didn’t want to commit to a deeper relationship, then he had a right to move on with someone else.” The mere thought of Ned with someone else made Nancy sick and as Nancy struggled internally, Silvia continued speaking, almost as if reading her mind. 

“And he was the perfect campus guide,” Silvia was saying, and then asked, “have you been to Emerson lately, Nancy? I hope you will share your impressions of the college. I would so like to hear your opinion.”

“No, I haven’t been since Ned graduated,” Nancy replied, the thought of the rejected marriage proposal flashing through her mind, “but I’ve always thought it to be a wonderful institution. I’m sure that you’d be happy there.”

“Well, then,” Silvia Rodman replied, “it’s settled. I’ll see about transferring next semester.”

“That’s great,” exclaimed Ned, smiling.

“Yes, great,” said Nancy, with less exuberance.

Soon it was time to take the Rodman’s to the train station and see them off. As Nancy received another bone-crushing hug from Buck, she could see out of the corner of her eye, Silvia reach up and give Ned a kiss on the cheek. It was all very innocent, but it made Nancy extremely uncomfortable. She was relieved when the train finally pulled away from the station with Silvia Rodman on it.

She and Ned walked back to his car in silence, both lost in thought. Suddenly, Ned took Nancy’s hand in his and, giving her a little smile said, “I’m glad you’re back, Nancy.”

“Me too,” she answered, “me too.”


	7. Chapter 7

It had taken Nancy nearly 30 minutes to find the grave. It was in an older section of River Height’s main ceremony, where the grave’s stones were worn with age and, in some cases, harder to read.

Anna Katherine Miller, born 1855 – Died 1875. Nancy had walked passed the grave marker twice before she finally found it. Even after she spotted the stone, she brushed off the dust and dirt with her gloved hand to make certain.

“She was just 20,” Nancy said to Hannah, who had come with her. Hannah’s husband was buried at the ceremony and she had taken the opportunity to ride over with Nancy to place flowers on his grave.

“Much too young to die,” Hannah replied with a shake of her head, “she was the same age as you are now, Nancy dear. She had her whole life ahead of her.”

“Yes,” sighed Nancy. A twinge of sadness crept over her. It was one thing to read about Anna in court transcripts and newspapers, and quite another to actually be standing at her grave. 

Sensing Nancy’s sadness, Hannah pulled some flowers out from the bunch she was holding. “Here,” she said, handing them to Nancy, “why don’t you place these on Anna’s grave. Mr. Gruen can spare a flower or two,” she added, smiling.

Nancy smiled gratefully back at her, “thank you, Hannah, that’s very sweet of you,” and she bent to place the flowers near the headstone. “I think I’ll come by, every now and again, and bring Anna some fresh ones.”

“I think that would be lovely, Nancy,” remarked Hannah, “although poor Anna died 73 years ago. Why, she’d be 93 years old now if she’d lived.”

Nancy smiled and said, “yes, but she didn’t live so, for eternity, she’ll always be 20.”

“Well, while you visit with Anna Miller, here, I’ll go put these on Mr. Gruen’s grave,” Hannah said, turning and walking away, “we’ll need to get home soon, Nancy. I’ve got a meal to make if you and your father want your supper tonight!”

While Hannah visited her husband’s grave, Nancy tidied up Anna’s and then straightened up to brush the dirt from her skirt. She glanced around and noticed that there were two headstones, one on each side of Anna’s grave. The one on the right said, “Sarah Miller Barnes”. 

“Anna’s sister,” remembered Nancy, noting that Sarah had lived well into her 60’s. 

The headstone to Anna’s left was very dirty and Nancy had just leaned over to give it a swipe with her hand when Hannah yelled to her.

“Nancy,” she shouted, “we really must go. It’s getting late!”

“Well, you’ll just have to wait until my next visit,” she said to the grave, and then added with a chuckle, “don’t go anywhere.”

The phone was ringing as Nancy and Hannah entered the Drew home.

“I’ll get it, Hannah,” said Nancy and, as she picked up the phone, she heard the voice of her best friend. 

“Hello, Nancy,” said Bess.

“Bess! You’re sounding better,” said Nancy, “how are you feeling?”

“Much better,” replied Bess, “the cold is pretty much gone but I still have a bit of a cough. Fortunately, my mother’s honey tea is helping, and I should be back to my normal self soon.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” said Nancy, “I’ve missed having you around to help me solve this mystery. It’s really been a challenge!”

“Speaking of challenges,” Bess said, “how are you and Ned?”

“Good, why do you ask?” replied Nancy, suspiciously.

“No reason,” lied Bess. 

Nancy knew her friend well enough to suspect something was up. “Come on, Bess, out with it!”

Bess paused and then said, “oh, it’s really nothing. Just the word on the grapevine is that there may be trouble in paradise.”

Nancy said nothing, and her silence encouraged Bess to continue.

“Nancy, Ned was seen out with another woman around town over the weekend while you were up in Boston, and…”

“Silvia Rodman,” interrupted Nancy.

“Who?” said Bess, started.

“She’s Buck Rodman’s sister,” said Nancy, softly, “they came to town while I was away and Ned showed them around River Heights. You may remember that he and Buck are good friends.”

“You knew about this?” asked a surprised Bess.

“Ned told me,” replied Nancy, “I admit it was after the fact and, at first, I was pretty upset, but it was all very innocent.”

“Oh, Nancy,” said Bess, gently, “I know you trust Ned, but when a steady boyfriend starts letting his gaze wonder, well, I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” said Nancy to herself as, hours later, her thoughts returned to her conversation with Bess. She and her father were enjoying Hannah’s wonderful dinner.

“How’s the case coming along, Nancy,” asked her father. He had taken note of his daughter’s quiet mood. “any leads?”

“A few, Dad,” she answered, “but nothing very solid. I…….Honey Tea!” Nancy suddenly straightened in her chair, her eyes wide open, her mouth hanging open.

“What?” asked a started Carson Drew.

“Bess said that she had been drinking honey tea to ease her cough,” replied Nancy, getting up from her chair and pacing the room. She just might be on to something. Finally!

“Nancy! What on earth are you talking about?” asked her father, again. “What’s this about honey tea?”

“What if Anna Miller wasn’t murdered?” said Nancy, “what if she was ill?”

“I’m still not following you, daughter,” replied Mr. Drew, now smiling. 

“Dad, remember when we were reading the court transcripts,” Nancy said and her father nodded, “well, her sister read a letter from Anna and, in it, Anna wrote that she had a cold and that she was drinking honey tea for her cough.”

“Yes, I remember now,” her father said, “but that hardly proves that she was sick enough to die.”

“But, the other clue was that she was found bleeding from the mouth,” continued Nancy.

“Yes, I remember that as well,” said her father.

“Anna had a blow to the forehead which wasn’t hard enough to knock her out,” said Nancy, still pacing, “but it was supposed to be hard enough to be fatal and cause bleeding from the mouth. It’s possible, of course, to receive a blow like that and die a moment later, but I don’t believe it. Something about it has never made sense to me.”

“How does the honey tea fit in?” asked her father, still puzzled.

“I think that Anna was very ill and didn’t know it,” surmised Nancy, “she thought she had a cold with a bad cough. She was concerned about not getting better, so much so, that she joked about coughing through William’s marriage proposal. I believe that she most likely was having some difficulty in breathing. Perhaps a shortness of breath. She decided to go for a short walk before meeting William in order to get some fresh air and catch her breath. She walked down the riverbank path and started coughing violently, causing her lungs to bleed, and sending blood up into her mouth. She fainted and bumped her forehand on a tree as she fell forward to the ground. Remember, William nearly missed seeing her because she was half hidden behind a tree trunk.”

“And her death?” asks Carson Drew.

“Tuberculosis,” answered Nancy, snapping her fingers. “It would have been called Consumption back then. People did die from it, especially if it was left untreated.”

“Surely Anna Miller would have known if she had tuberculosis,” said her father, “although I have heard of cases where people had little to no symptoms.”

“Which would allow her condition to worsen, becoming serious enough to kill her,” added Nancy. “oh, Dad, if only that doctor had done an autopsy! It would have shown up in her lungs and William would have been cleared without suspicion.”

“I think your next step will be to hunt down any old medical records,” her father suggested, “maybe she was being treated for it and didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Good idea, Dad!” Nancy exclaimed, “in the meantime, how hard is it to exhume a body?”

“It’s not easy, Nancy,” replied Mr. Drew, “it would take finding Anna Miller’s direct next-of-kin and then filing a petition. I think getting proof through the medical records that exhumation is necessary would certainly help.”

“Would you please have one of your assistants start tracking down the next-of-kin?” asked Nancy, “while I work on finding the medical records? It would hurry things up, a bit.”

“Yes,” smiled her father, “anything to help River Height’s most famous detective.”


	8. Chapter 8

In search of Anna Miller’s medical records, Nancy decided to start with the only physician documented to be connected with her case, Dr. Henry Winfield, who had performed the cursory autopsy. The transcripts indicated that he had practiced medicine in Mapleton for 35 years. 

“His relatives shouldn’t be too hard to track down,” said Nancy to herself, “although it’s not clear if he was Anna’s regular doctor, it’s as good a place as any to start.”

Several phone calls to Mapleton, however, yielded frustrating results. The newspaper office told her that articles in their archives mention that the physician retired shortly after the Coleman trail and this was verified by the Mapleton City Hall, which had a record of Dr. Winfield discontinuing his practice’s business license at that same time. The Mapleton Medical Association could only tell her that Dr. Winfield had maintained his medical license until his death and that he had never married and had no relatives living in Mapleton.

“Unfortunately, Nancy,” said Evan Moore, the Association’s director, “even if you found his next-of-kin, I’m not sure how helpful they would be. Our files show that Dr. Winfield’s medical practice was destroyed by fire in 1880 and all of his records were lost.”

Thanking the director, Nancy hung up the phone and walked out to sit with Hannah on the back porch. The weather had been beautiful all day and she hoped that it would help to clear her mind.

“You have that ‘I’ve hit a dead end’ frown on your face, Nancy Drew,” said Hannah, looking up from the bowl of peas she was shelling to give her a warm smile.

“That’s probably because I have hit a dead end, Hannah,” replied Nancy.

“What to talk about it?” asked Hannah.

“Yes, I think that might help,” said Nancy with a smile and she told Hannah of her frustration in trying to track down Anna’s records. “The only lead I have is that of Dr. Winfield and I don’t believe he was even Anna’s regular physician,” she added.

“Perhaps Anna had occasion to go to the hospital,” suggested Hannah, “although folks generally didn’t do that back then. The doctor usually treated them in their homes, especially if they were well-to-do as the Miller’s seemed to be.”

“The hospital…,” said Nancy, thoughtfully, and then she jumped up and snapped her fingers. “Hannah, you’re a genius!” she exclaimed bending down and hugging the housekeeper.

“Thank you,” replied Hannah, a bit puzzled, “but why...”

“The hospital is where the morgue is,” explained Nancy, “since this was a criminal matter, Anna Miller’s body would have been processed through the county morgue. The police would have sent the body there to await an autopsy from the county Coroner. Dr. Winfield testified that he contacted the Coroner himself but was told that the man was not available. Dr. Winfield was asked to perform the procedure which he would have undertaken in that same location. Now all I have to do is contact the hospital morgue and see if they have Anna’s records and if those records have the name of her regular doctor.”

“Glad I could help,” chuckled Hannah, returning to her peas as Nancy hurriedly left the room to make the call to Mapleton County Hospital.

It took Doctor Henning a few minutes to pull out the large index card containing the information on Anna Miller. 

“Yes, I got it here, Miss. Drew,” he said, “there is almost no information about the autopsy other than the notation of the bump on the forehead of the deceased and trace evidence of blood in the mouth. Obviously, the procedure was not done by Dr. Cook, our county Coroner at that time.”

“That’s correct,” replied Nancy, “the autopsy was performed by Dr. Henry Winfield, a general physician in Mapleton. I believe that Dr. Cook was not in town and so not available to do the autopsy.”

“Yes, that explains it,” said Dr. Henning, “although it’s never a good idea to let a physician not experienced in autopsies to perform one.”

“I agree,” replied Nancy, “the main reason for my call, however, is to see if there is another doctor’s name on the record. I’m searching for the name of Anna Miller’s regular physician.”

“Ah, well let me see,” said the doctor, “yes, here it is on the back of the card. Dr. Randolph Spelling is listed as Miss Miller’s general physician.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” exclaimed Nancy, “you’ve been a big help, Dr. Henning!”

“Well, Miss. Drew,” said Dr. Henning, “I can help you even further. You see, I happened to know Dr. Spelling’s grandson who is also a general physician. His practice happens to be in River Heights, on seventh street, and he may still have many of his grandfather’s old records! If you like, I will give him a call to let him know that you’ll be contacting him.”

“Dr. Henning, that would be extremely helpful!” replied Nancy, “I can’t thank you enough!”

“My pleasure,” replied the doctor, and he hung up to make the call.

In a matter of twenty minutes, Nancy was on her way over to Dr. Spelling’s office. Although she tried to contain her excitement, she was hopeful that she would finally find some evidence as to what caused Anna’s death. 

Dr. Spelling was a cheerful man in his early forties, with an easy manner, and a willingness to be helpful.

“After I received Henning’s call, I pulled Miss. Anna Miller’s medical record from one of my grandfather’s boxes,” said the doctor, smiling. “It’s fortunate that it’s so old because I have thrown out most of the files from about 1915 to 1935. But I love studying those very early cases, such as Miss Miller’s, because it provides some insight concerning diseases and practices during that time. Here it is,” he added, picking up the record from his desk and handing it to Nancy.

Nancy flipped it open anxiously but found that she could not make out any of the handwriting.

“The curse of a doctor,” said Dr. Spelling, chuckling, “let me see if I can help decipher my grandfather’s writing. Ah, yes,” said the doctor as he scanned the record, “it looks like Miss Miller started seeing my grandfather when she was in her early teens. Nothing very serious. She sprained an ankle at age 14 and was treated for a severe sore throat at age 16.” 

“How about around ages 19 or 20?” asked Nancy, rather impatiently, “in her letters, she complained about a bad cough just before she died.”

“Hum, yes, here it is,” murmured Dr. Spelling, “my grandfather writes that she came in complaining of a bad cold and cough. He noted that the cold was nearly gone but he was concerned about the cough. He asked her to come in again if it didn’t seem to get better within a few days. It looks like he was ready to collect some sputum to be tested for Tuberculous.”

“So he had his suspicions but did not run the test?” asked Nancy.

“Yes, that’s what he writes in her record,” replied the doctor, “my grandfather was a cautious man when it came to medical testing. He did not believe in running a bunch of tests just for the sake of it. But he did so if he had exercised all other possibilities. In Miss Miller’s case, it looks like he wanted to see if the cough was related to the cold, or allergies, although he had his suspicions that it was something worse, like TB.”

“What would the test have shown,” asked Nancy.

“The presence of tuberculosis bacteria in the lungs, which is a very serious and infectious condition,” replied Dr. Spelling, “I believe that Miss. Miller was killed before my grandfather had a chance at a further diagnosis.”

“Could it have been possible that Anna Miller died from Tuberculosis?” Nancy asked.

“Oh, you mean instead of being murdered,” said the Doctor, “well yes, that’s possible but I suppose we’ll never know since the test was never run.”

“What about the presence of TB lesions on the lungs,” replied Nancy, “I seem to recall reading somewhere that Tuberculosis can leave such evidence.”

“Ah, Miss. Drew,” exclaimed Dr. Spelling, “your reputation does you justice! You ARE quite a clever detective! Yes, if Miss Miller had Tuberculosis, her lungs would show evidence of lesions. But you’ll have to exhume her body to see them.”

“That’s exactly what I plan to do, Dr. Spelling,” replied Nancy, “and your grandfather just helped me do it!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nancy had taken the train up to Chicago to surprise Ned with dinner. Hannah had packed a hamper filled with delicious food, including most of Ned’s favorite dishes. He had been putting in several late nights at work and had mentioned that he hadn’t been eating because he was usually too exhausted by the time he got home. Ned Nickerson’s appetite was famous among family and friends so him not eating was a matter of serious concern.

A clock in the distance was chiming 6:00pm when she entered his office. He was bent over several papers, his jacket off, tie loosened, and shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked up from his desk, gave a cry of delight, and jumping up, gave her a quick hug and kiss, and seized the hamper to take a peek inside.

“Hannah’s?” he asked, hopefully.

Nancy chuckled and nodded, “Yes, she and I are worried about you! We can’t have you perish from lack of eating.”

“Nancy!” Ned exclaimed, “this is amazing! What a treat! Let me clear my desk so we can spread everything out.” 

In no time at all, Ned sat in front of a large feast while Nancy pulled up a chair on the other side of his desk across from him.

While nibbling at the food on her own plate, Nancy updated him on the details of the case. Ned, however, took large bites of his own. She had to laugh. The way in which he attacked his plate, one would have thought he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“Hannah will be pleased that she saved you from starvation,” she teased.

Ned, his mouth full, could only smile and nod.

“So, Anna’s old medical records show that she was being treated for a persistent cough,” Nancy continued, “and her doctor wrote in his records that he was concerned over her lack of recovery. He even suspected that she might have Tuberculous but wanted to wait a while longer since she didn’t appear to have any other symptoms.”

“You got the records from the old doctor’s grandson, is that right,” asked Ned.

“Yes,” she replied, “it’s really a miracle that he still had them. He told me that he had found over a dozen boxes of old records when his grandfather passed away and, although he threw away most of them, he thought the really old ones were very interesting and kept them. He’s a doctor himself!”

“Following in his grandfather’s footsteps,” said Ned.

“Yes, fortunately for me. Because, if we can find Anna Miller’s next of kin who will sign off on the petition, I can have her body exhumed,” Nancy said, “I’m fairly certain that an autopsy will show signs of Tuberculosis scaring on her lungs.”

“That’s great, Nancy!” said Ned, “whether you clear Uncle William’s name or not, you’ve already done an amazing job with this case!” he added, smiling proudly at her.

Nancy blushed and returned his smile. “Thanks, Ned,” she replied, “I haven’t quite solved all of it yet, but I feel certain that I’ll at least be able to clear Uncle William.”

It was late and everyone else had gone home. They had the office to themselves and they talked and ate for an hour, enjoying the wonderful food and each other’s company. They had not been this comfortable or relaxed with each other in weeks and Nancy realized just how much she had missed him. She hoped that Ned had recovered from his hurt feelings over her rejection of his proposal. She was aware, however, that their conversation still avoided any serious subjects such as love and marriage, and for this, she was grateful.

“So, Bud was up for a promotion,” recited Ned, in the middle of his story, “and he was due to go before our board of directors when he asked me if I would shoot a few hoops with him.”

“He wanted to shoot hoops with you?” asked Nancy, “didn’t he know he would be up against the star of Emerson College.”

“I think his goal was to calm his nerves, not beat me in basketball,” Ned explained, “which is good because I would have beaten him anyway.”

“Your modesty is overwhelming,” Nancy teased, “so what happened?”

“We went over to the gym during our lunch break,” Ned replied.

“Another meal skipped,” Nancy chimed in. She got up from her chair and started putting the empty dishes back into the hamper.

“No, I ate a sandwich at my desk when I came back,” explained Ned, “which wasn’t very long after our trip to the gym because Bud broke his nose.”

“What!” exclaimed Nancy, stopping for a moment to look at Ned, as he stood and handed her his plate.

“Yeah,” he answered, “I gave Bud the ball first and he tried a jump shot. He came up short and the ball hit the rim, bounced back, and hit him in the face, breaking his nose.”

Ned and Nancy were now both laughing as Ned continued. 

“He went straight to the doctor who bandaged him up. Unfortunately, he ended up in front of the board asking for a promotion with two black eyes and a large bandage across his face. They assumed he had been in a fight and, no matter his explanation, they didn’t believe him, and he ended up not getting the promotion.”

“The moral of the story is never shoot baskets on the job,” Nancy joked, still laughing.

Ned turned toward her to respond and then it happened. They weren’t sure how, but, one minute they had been laughing and putting away the dishes, and then suddenly they were in each other’s arms, and Ned was kissing her passionately. And Nancy was kissing him back … passionately. 

It was as if this was their last kiss before the world ended. They would die if not for this. They were hungry for each other, despite for each other, the need to hang on, to merge their souls. The world stopped and the light faded. They couldn’t catch their breath, couldn’t think, didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was this moment…that they were together like this.

It was only when they heard the clanging of the approaching custodian’s cart that they finally stopped and pulled apart. They stayed in each other’s arms, though, their foreheads pressed together, as they struggled to catch their breath. 

Finally, Ned whispered, “let’s go home. This work can wait.” 

He unrolled his sleeves and put on his jacket. Together they nodded to the custodian, wishing him a goodnight, and walked to the station to catch the last train back to River Heights. 

They held hands during the train ride home but spoke little, still somewhat shaken by what had happened between them. When they arrived in River Heights, they separated with a bit of an awkward kiss and a hug, before turning toward their own cars waiting for them at the station. 

“Thanks for dinner, Drew,” said Ned, smiling over his shoulder.

“My pleasure, Nickerson,” responded Nancy, as she opened her car door and got in.

Later, Nancy would wonder who had started it, but it really didn’t matter. Through all their years together, he had kissed her thousands of times. But Ned Nickerson had never kissed Nancy like he had kissed her that night, and she would never forget it.


	9. Chapter 9

The small box arrived at the Drew home the next day and, although it was addressed to Carson Drew, he handed it to his daughter.

“I believe this is for you,” he said.

Puzzled, Nancy looked at the return address and read “Mrs. Robert Barnes”. She carefully opened the box and lifted out a note sitting on top of a stack of letters.”

“Dear Mr. Drew,” the letter began, “here are the letters you requested. They have been in the family for years and you are welcome to read and make copies of them if you wish. I only request that you return them to me when you are finished. 

Anna Miller was the aunt of my late husband Robert. Robert’s mother, Sarah Barnes, was Anna’s sister.

It was such a tragedy for the family to lose Anna so early and I am delighted that your daughter is working to solve the case. 

Sincerely,

Claire Barnes”.

“So, your assistant was able to find Anna’s next-of-kin?” asked Nancy.

“Well, actually I did the research myself and was able to find her,” replied her father, “it was in finding the next-of-kin that I was able to secure these letters.”

“That’s fantastic, Dad,” Nancy said, “I should be able to pick up a clue or two from these letters.”

She put aside Mrs. Barnes’s note and pulled out the stack of letters from the box. They were tied together with a faded red ribbon which she carefully untied and, unfolding the first letter, she began to read.

“My dear Anna;

I hope you will do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk along the riverbank tomorrow afternoon. The Muskoka River is particularly fine this time of year and several wildflowers are in bloom. The pleasure of your company will add much to the beauty of the landscape, although it cannot compete with the beauty of your smile.”

Nancy chuckled. With flattery like that, she could tell that the letter was written by William even before she noted the signature. Isn’t that just like a Coleman, Nancy thought to herself, remembering some of the letters she had received from Ned while he was away at Emerson.

“I cannot tell you, enough,” Nancy continued reading, “how much I enjoyed our conversation last Monday. How is it possible that you are a woman of good mind as well as infinite beauty? Every moment with you is a gift.”

“Laying it on a bit thick there, aren’t you, William?” said Nancy to herself. 

“If agreeable with you, I will come by tomorrow at 1:00pm to escort you to the river. Please send word that you’ll come? I don’t know what I’ll do if you refuse me.

Your humble servant,

William Coleman.”

As Nancy read through the letters, she noted that they became more and more romantic. When she came to the final letter in the box, she saw that it was written the day before Anna Miller died.

“My Darling;

I count the hours until we are together. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. I hope that you will be feeling better for I truly wish to see you. I have an important question to ask you which I don’t believe will come as a surprise. The only mystery is how you will answer it. It is my hope that you love me as much as I love you.

Until tomorrow, my darling,

I remain your humble servant,

William.”

Surely not a letter from someone who would fly into a rage and kill someone. William sounded much like Ned. If his marriage proposal was rejected, which he indicates could be a possibility, Nancy was convinced that he would have been broken hearted, not murderous. His letter shows that he was uncertain of Anna’s answer and was holding on to the hope that she loved him enough to accept him. 

How tragic that he would never know. 

At the bottom of the box was a small envelope that contained a single photograph. Excitedly, Nancy carefully slid out the picture. It was of a young man, around 22 years of age. He had a handsome face, clean shaven, with slightly curly hair. But his best feature were his large soft eyes with their long lashes and soulful stare. 

Nancy gently turned the picture over and read the name on back, William Coleman, September, 1875. It had been taken in a studio, with William sitting ramrod straight in a chair, holding a hat in his right hand. His hair was roughly combed as if he had just splashed water on it before attempting to pat it down with his hand. He was nicely dressed, and his shoes had been recently shined. 

“Well,” she murmured to herself, “hello great Uncle William. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

She studied the photograph closely. She knew that she was somewhat bias, but this was definitely not the face of a murderer. This was the face of a lovesick young man trying to make a good impression on his lady love. 

One more thing struck her before she placed the photograph back inside its envelope. Although Nancy had always felt that Ned strongly resembled his father, who was a Nickerson and not a Coleman, Ned also seemed to have a resemblance to his uncle William. “It’s rather uncanny,” she thought to herself, “or maybe I just have Ned a lot on my mind lately.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carson Drew was slowly turning the pages of a photo album when Nancy entered his study later that evening. It was resting on his lap and she recognized it as her parent’s wedding album. She had only looked through it, herself, twice, and not for several years. She could not remember a time when she saw her father look at it.

He looked up and said, “oh, it’s you, Nancy,” adding, “I’m just looking through this old album. Gosh, it’s been years since I last looked at it.”

Nancy perched on the arm of his chair and, sliding her arm around his shoulders, gazed down at the open page. There she saw a picture of her mother and father standing in front of a fireplace. It was strange to see them together, she had known her father as a single parent for so long. In the photo, he had his arm lightly wrapped around her mother’s waist and they were both beaming. 

“Our engagement picture,” said her father, placing his hand along the edge of the photograph. “It was so long ago although it really does seem like only yesterday.”

“I don’t recognize the fireplace,” said his daughter, “where was this taken?”

“In your Grandmother Sullivan’s livingroom,” replied her father. “I had asked your mother to marry me that afternoon and we drove over to her house to make the announcement. However, before we could say a word, your grandmother noticed the engagement ring on your mother’s finger and blurted it out to everyone!”

Nancy chuckled, imagining the chaotic scene.

“It didn’t really matter,” her father continued, “we were so happy,” and, as he turned the page, added in almost a whisper, “and so very much in love.”

The next picture was a closeup of her mother with her hand outstretched showing off the beautiful diamond engagement ring. Nancy had seen the ring several times in its velvet box but had no memory of it being on her mother’s finger. 

“It’s a nice ring, don’t you think Nancy?” asked her father. When she nodded, he continued, “it’s in the safe over there,” nodding to the wall across the room. “It’s yours now, of course. I’ve been saving it for you until you were old enough.” And then looking up at his adult daughter, he chuckled and said, “time flies. I can’t believe you’re already grown!”

Nancy patted his shoulder and replied, “I’ll always be your little girl, Dad.”

“Indeed!” he exclaimed, “but remember it’s yours whenever you want it.” Carson Drew paused and then added, as he looked down at the next picture, “perhaps you’ll want to pass it down to one of your own children,” and, after another pause, said, “if you ever get married.”

Nancy caught the word “if” in his comment and it stung her. “If”. Yes, that was the question, wasn’t it? Nancy pretended not to notice and looked down at the picture. It was of her mother in her wedding dress. Her bridesmaids were hovering around her and she was looking back over her shoulder at the photographer who had apparently caught her off guard. She was laughing and the joy in her face nearly radiated off the page.

Kate Drew had been a very beautiful young woman. She had long blond hair and bright blue eyes which danced when she was happy. She was slim, of medium height, and wore nearly no make-up relying more on her natural attractiveness. She was about Nancy’s current age in her wedding picture and Nancy could see how much she resembled her. 

“I was so nervous,” reflected her father, “it seemed an eternity until I saw your mother walking down the aisle toward me in that dress. She told me that she wasn’t nervous at all, which I can believe. Your mother had turned me down so many times that, once she made up her mind to accept my proposal, she was sure to go through with it. I, on the other hand, was keeping my fingers crossed that she wouldn’t change her mind on the way to the church and leave me stranded at the altar.”

Her father chuckled as he remembered how terrified he had been. But his daughter was frowning. She asked, softly, “My mother turned you down several times?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, “at least twice, if I remember correctly. I was heartbroken, of course, but, if truth be told, I never really thought that I was good enough for your mother.”

Nancy let out a surprised gasp. “Oh, Dad! How can you say that! I’m sure you were a perfect husband!”

“How nice of my loyal daughter to say so,” smiled Carson Drew, “but your mother had several suitors, some much richer and more handsome than me. She could have had her pick! But she was hesitant to settle down.”

“Why was that, Dad?” asked Nancy, more curious then she wanted to admit.

“I asked her that very question,” replied her father, “years later during one of our rare arguments.”

Nancy was startled to hear that her parents had ever fought. Her mother had died when Nancy was only three, so she had no memory of her mother or of her parents arguing. She had assumed, like most offspring, that her parents had a perfect marriage.

Her only memories of her mother were of the smell of lilac, a scent that Nancy would always associate with her, and a vague memory of climbing up onto her mother’s lap to have a story read to her. She also remembered the sadness in her father’s eyes as he sat by his tiny daughter at the funeral. Or, rather, Nancy assumed it was her mother’s funeral. It was all very hazy.

“I asked her what had made her finally settle down,” her father continued, “and why it had been with me! I remember shouting ‘are you sorry, Kate, that you finally agreed to marry me,’ or something along those lines. I don’t remember the exact words.”

Nancy studied her father’s face and could almost see the hurt and sadness that must have been there at the time. She turned her gaze back to the picture of her mother in her bridal grown. It was difficult to reconcile the woman so obviously happy in the picture to the one arguing with her father. 

“I remember asking her if she had ever loved me. I can’t image why I said that? It was a silly thing to say, really.” Carson Drew mused, speaking almost as much to himself as to Nancy. “Your mother raised her hand as if to slap me, but then, instead, rested it against my cheek. I remember it so clearly. She was weeping, the tears running down her face. She said that she had always loved me. Deeply. And that was the problem. She loved me so much that she was terrified that she would someday lose me. That something would happen to me, an accident or a war, and I would be killed and taken from her. She didn’t think that she could bear it.”

“Dad!” said Nancy, grasping his shoulder, but her father continued.

“So, deep down, she figured that if she didn’t commit to our relationship, then I would never be taken from her. Imagine!” smiled Mr. Drew. “But love is a tricky thing. Not being together doesn’t always ensure that one won’t suffer a loss.”

Nancy said nothing. She was thinking about Ned. Whether she married him or not, she would be devastated if he was killed.

“The irony is that with your mother continuously turning down my proposals, I did start to give up. After the second time, I stopped seeing her as much. I even took out one or two other ladies,” he said, smiling.

Nancy could imagine that her handsome father would have no trouble finding dates. Women were probably lining up. 

She remembered her feeling of jealousy when Ned told her he had been out with Silvia. Was he about to give up on her? She had already turned him down twice.

“Did that get mom’s attention? Was it her jealousy that finally made her decide to marry you?” Nancy asked.

“No, it wasn’t jealousy, Nancy,” answered her father, “your mother said that she finally realized that, married or not, she simply didn’t think she could go on living without me.”

Father and daughter sat silently for a few moments looking down at the wedding pictures in the album.

“And she ended up dying and leaving us to go on without her,” sighed Nancy, finally.

“Yes, but no one could have predicted that,” replied her father, “even knowing it, I would have married her anyway. If we were together one day, or one week, or one year, it would not have mattered. Your mother and I loved each other beyond life itself. She truly was my soulmate.”

Nancy could only nod and look down at a picture of the happy couple standing at the altar. A moment caught in time of her father slipping the wedding ring onto the finger of her mother and vowing to love her in sickness and in health.

“There isn’t a day that I don’t think about her and miss her,” said her father, gently closing the album. “But I have absolutely no regrets. I treasure the years we had together and wouldn’t trade them for anything. I could have chosen to marry someone else who, most likely, would still been here, but I won’t have been as happy as I was with your mother.  
And, even more importantly, I won’t have had you, my wonderful daughter,” he added, giving her hand a pat.

Nancy smiled down at her father, and moving to a chair directly across from him, said, “for which I am truly grateful!”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes when Carson Drew finally looked over at his daughter and asked, “Nancy, may I ask you something?”

“Sure, Dad,” she answered, “what is it?”

“Do you love Ned?”

Started by the question, Nancy’s head shot up and she blushed, recalling the kiss she and Ned had exchanged in Ned’s office. 

“I’m sorry, Nancy,” he continued, “I suppose it’s none of my business, but I have wondered. You’ve been together for quite a long time and, well, he did stop by that evening to tell me that he was going to propose to you and asked for my blessing. He admitted to me that he had asked you once before, but you had turned him down. You told him that you didn’t feel ready.”

Nancy, still speechless, nodded her head yes.

“He was fairly certain that you’d accept him this time. I think very highly of Ned. He has bravely saved you from numerous dangerous situations through the years and has been very loyal to you, Nancy. You know that I won’t be happy marrying you off to just anyone, but I know that Ned loves you deeply. When you came back that night without the engagement ring, I knew that you had turned him down again. I spoke with James Nickerson the following morning, and he confirmed it. So, I’m curious, Nancy. Do you love Ned?”

Nancy paused and then answered, “yes, Dad, I love Ned. Very much.”

“Yet you turned him down?” asked her father.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Why, Nancy?” he replied, “can you tell me why? Perhaps you don’t love him enough to marry him.”

“No, that’s not it,” answered Nancy.

“You don’t think he’ll be able to support you or make you happy?” her father asked, pushing his daughter a little.

“No, Ned has a great job and he has always made me very happy,” she said, “he’s even bought us a nice house.”

Her father shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands.

“I don’t understand,” he exclaimed, “what is it you want, Nancy? A nicer engagement ring? Was there something wrong with the ring because that can be fixed.”

“No, of course not, Dad,” Nancy replied, smiling weakly, “in fact, I never gave him a chance to show me the ring. I turned him down before he even opened the box,” she admitted sadly.

Carson Drew said nothing and watched his daughter as she struggled with her own feelings. 

She finally said, “If I’m really honest with myself, I’d have to say that I love him too much to marry him.”

“What?” responded her father, “Nancy, that doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m not saying that it’s rational, Dad,” she replied, “I just mean that Ned’s always been there. He’s been so much a part of my life. Whenever I think of Ned, and how much I love him, I can’t fathom him not being there.”

“But it sounds like Ned may need a more committed arrangement,” said Carson Drew, gently, “one you’re apparently not willing to give him.”

“I’m fully committed to Ned, Dad!”

“Then why not marry him?” pressed her father.

“Because…” Nancy was getting flustered, “maybe I’m afraid…”

Her father raised his eyebrows. “Nancy Drew is never afraid.”

“Well, this time she is,” admitted his daughter, wistfully, “I know it would hurt terribly if I lost him. I love him so much that I’m not sure I could go on without him.”

The realization of what she had just said struck her like lightening. She looked over at her father who sat grinning.

“Like mother, like daughter,” he finally said, “do you realize what you just said, Nancy?”

“Oh my god, Dad!” Nancy exclaimed, “could it be that silly? I’m avoiding marrying Ned because I’m afraid I might lose him someday and it would be better not to commit to him. As if that makes everything better?”

“I would say that’s a real possibility,” answered her father, “the problem is that you might lose him out of fear of losing him! It’s quite a paradox, isn’t it?”

Nancy frowned and shook her head. “Well, what do I do about it? Ned hasn’t quite broken things off, but he has pulled back. He definitely hasn’t been his warm loving self lately. I hurt him badly, Dad. I’d say that it’s pretty doubtful that he’ll ask me to marry him anytime soon, or perhaps ever again.”

“Well you never know,” replied Carson, “after all, I did end up asking your mother a third time. Although I must admit I came pretty close to ending the relationship and moving on to someone else.”

“And I won’t blame Ned for moving on,” replied Nancy, sadly, “after all, he’s already gone out with Silvia. There are certainly many girls easier for Ned to marry than me.”

“But none that he will ever love as much,” said her father.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, as Nancy were finishing her breakfast, Carson Drew came through the kitchen on his way to the office. Reaching for his hat and coat, he suddenly said, “I almost forgot,” and slid a lengthy document out from his brief case, placing it in front of his daughter. Flipping quickly to the last page, he pointed to the signature line at the bottom.

“Sign here Nancy,” he said, standing beside her, “and I’ll sign right below.”

Nancy dutifully signed and then asked, “OK, Dad, what did I just sign?”

“The petition to exhume Anna Miller’s body,” he answered, adding his signature below hers.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, “how long before we know if it can be done?”

“Well, I’ll stop by Judge Wright’s chambers on my way to the office this morning,” her father explained. “I’ve got the medical documentation you found, the request for exhumation by the next-of-kin, and the petition, so hopefully I should know something by this afternoon. 

“Does the next-of-kin have to be present for the exhumation?” Nancy asked.

“No, not really,” Mr. Drew replied, “I’ll stand in as the legal representative for the Miller family if need be.”

“Oh, too bad,” sighed Nancy, “I’d be interested in meeting one of Anna’s blood relatives to see what they’re like. I’m very familiar with the Coleman side, of course, but getting a sense of Anna, herself, has been such a mystery. The only next-of-kin I have any knowledge of is Claire Barnes, who, being Robert’s wife, is not a blood relative.”

“Ah,” chuckled her father, “you just want to get an idea of what Anna Miller looked like, and how she was able to so deeply captivate one of the Coleman boys!”

Nancy just smiled and nodded her head. “Absolutely,” she said to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That afternoon, working strictly on a hunch, Nancy had a copy made of William Coleman’s photograph. She then sat down and wrote a letter to the Hunter Law Firm in Boston.

“Dear Sirs,” she began, “I have a rather unusual request. I am a detective from River Heights and I am working to solve a cold case from the late 1800’s. The case includes discovering what happened to a missing person.

I was in Boston a week ago and I visited a small gallery there that had, on display, four pictures painted by a Mr. Andrew Morrison. I was told that Mr. Morrison was a client of one of the attorneys in your firm, a Mr. Gabe Hunter.

I do realize that Mr. Hunter died several decades ago but am inquiring if your firm may have kept any past records concerning Mr. Morrison. I am trying to trace the past whereabouts of a Mr. William Coleman who was also known to be a painter. Mr. Morrison’s work closely resembles, in style and concept, that of Mr. Coleman’s and it is conceivable that one artist may have been the teacher of the other. 

I realize that this is quite a long shot but I am following every possible lead no matter how apparently insignificant. I am enclosing a picture of William Coleman in hopes that it might prove useful. From what we can determine, the picture was taken in 1875 when Mr. Coleman would have been around 22 years of age.

Any information you may be able to provide would be extremely helpful.

Sincerely,

Nancy Drew."

Late, the very next evening, Nancy received a surprising phone call from the Hunter Law Firm in Boston. The efficient sounding, but friendly voice on the other end of the line identified itself as Mrs. Mary Adams, and she was one of the attorney’s working at the firm.

“Miss Drew,” said Mrs. Adams, “I do apologize for calling you so late, but I believe I have some answers for you in your quest for Mr. William Coleman.”

Nancy sat down at the phone table, grabbed a pencil and paper, and braced herself.

“I was quite excited when I received your letter this morning,” said the attorney, “because I took over the Andrew Morrison files when my father passed away.”

“Oh, so you’re the daughter of Mr. Gabe Hunter?” asked Nancy.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Adams, “my father was the founder of the law firm. He was very well known in Boston, and our firm represented many famous people, including Mr. Morrison. As his only child, consequently, I took over most of those clients.” Mary Adams paused and then said, “a position I believe you know well as Carson Drew’s daughter.”

Nancy chuckled. “So, you looked me up, Mrs. Adams?” she asked without malice.

“Usually we do,” replied Mrs. Adams, “we carry very sensitive information and need to be very careful. But there was no need in your case. You and your father are already well known and your excellent reputation proceeds you.”

“Thank you,” was all Nancy said in reply, “so, what can you tell me?”

“A lot,” answered Mary Adams, “For starters, I can tell you that Mr. Andrew Morrison and Mr. William Coleman are one and the same person. The photograph you sent me matches the photograph we have from his military records we have on file.”

Nancy gasped. She now had proof that William had gone to Boston after his trial.

“Mr. Coleman arrived in Boston in the year 1875 and, apparently, changed his name to Andrew Morrison. By all appearances, he started a new life although we do not know the reason why.”

“He was tried for murder,” interjected Nancy, “but was innocent and allowed to go free. Due to social stigma, though, he thought it best to relocate.”

“Yes, that would certainly be reason enough,” chuckled Mrs. Adams. “He worked at the Browning Publishing Company for over 20 years as a very successful Illustrator,” she continued, “and then in 1898, he resigned his position and went to fight in the Spanish-American War. Rather a strange thing to do considering he would have been about 45 years old at the time. He was killed in action four months later.”

Somehow the news brought tears to Nancy’s eyes which was silly, of course, because it happened so long ago. But Nancy had gotten to know William Coleman, in a way, and hearing that he had died in war struck her. 

Chiding herself, Nancy came back to the conversation and asked, “did he leave behind a wife and children?”

“No,” replied the attorney, “as far as we know, he never married.”

“Did he leave a will?” she asked.

“Yes, and I can send you a copy if you like,” offered Mrs. Adams, “but one thing you may find interesting right now is that Mr. Coleman revealed his true identity in his will. He also stated that he purchased a burial plot next to a Miss Anna Miller in the River Heights cemetery and he directed that he be buried there. Our records show that our firm acceded to the instructions set forth in his will, so I have every reason to believe that you’ll find Mr. Coleman there, Miss. Drew.”

“So, he returned home in the end,” said Nancy, softly.

“So it appears,” replied Mary Adams, “may I ask if you know who this Anna Miller is? His mother, perhaps?”

“His intended fiancée,” answered Nancy, as she ended the conversation. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Nancy, you were right,” Mr. Drew said over the phone, “the results of the exhumation on Anna Miller just arrived at the office and there is evidence of Tuberculosis lesions present in her lungs. She was in the advance stages and the medical examiner concludes that this is want caused her death. Additionally, there is no evidence that she died from a blow to the head or by any other form of violent means.”

“Oh, Dad!” exclaimed Nancy, “that’s wonderful! Not that she died at age 20, of course, but that she wasn’t murdered!”

Carson Drew chuckled, “I knew what you meant, Nancy. And, not only have you solved how she died but, in doing so, you’ve also cleared William Coleman’s name. Great work, Nancy! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Dad,” Nancy replied, “but I couldn’t have done it without your help. Only you could have gotten the court’s permission to exhume the body.”

“Well, I think you would have found a way to work that out without me,” said her father, “but I’m glad I could help.”

“Oh, Dad, I almost forgot,” said Nancy, “I can now also reveal what happened to William after he left Mapleton! So, I believe that the case has been solved.”

“That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to hear how you found that out,” replied Mr. Drew, somewhat curious, “so, what now? Time to call in all the parties involved for a big celebration?”

“Yes, please!” said Nancy, “can we host it this evening, after dinner, at our house? I have something I need to do before that.”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Drew, “arrange things with Hannah and call the Nickerson’s. I’ll see you later at dinner.”

Nancy ran to the kitchen to let Hannah know of their plans.

“I have just enough time to bake a cake!” exclaimed Hannah.

“Oh, Hannah, I was hoping you’d say that although I didn’t want to put you through the trouble,” said Nancy.

“No trouble at all, Nancy dear,” said the housekeeper, “I get the feeling that this was a very special case for you and a cake is certainly in order.”

Laughing, Nancy gave her a quick hug and then rushed to call Ned.

“It’s all arranged,” said Ned, calling her back 20 minutes later, “my parents will pick up my grandparents and then drive over. I’ll drive over separately. Your Livingroom will soon be filled with Colemans,” he added with a chuckle.

“Actually, Ned,” said Nancy, “if you’re not too busy, I wonder if you’ll run an errand with me? There’s a final piece of the puzzle that I’d like to settle.”

“Sure,” Ned said after a short pause, “what time would you like me to pick you up.”

“How about in an hour?” answered Nancy, “and afterwards, you can stay for dinner and we’ll brace ourselves to receive the Coleman’s together.”

Ned began laughing and then said, “sounds great, Nancy. I’ll see you soon.”

The afternoon was sunny with a warm breeze that blew through Nancy’s hair. Ned smiled down at her as she reached out to hold his hand. They were standing at the foot of Anna Miller’s grave and the grave next to it. Nancy had wiped off the dirt and dust from the headstone and had then returned to stand next to Ned. She was beaming.

“Andrew Morrison” was the name on the stone, and then, directly underneath, “also known as William Edmund Coleman, Born 1853, Died 1898, killed in action, Spanish-American War.”

“He certainly took a risk in buying this plot and putting it in his will to be buried here,” Nancy said, “after all, his name had not been cleared of murder. His request could have been denied or his grave even vandalized. But I suppose he was willing to take the chance.”

Leaning closer, Ned read the small inscription underneath, “eternally in rest next to the only woman he ever loved.”

“Well,” Ned said with a sigh, “my uncle William finally made it home.” 

“Yes,” replied Nancy, “and right next to where he always wanted to be, next to Anna Miller, the woman he loved.”

“Lucky man,” said Ned, sadly, and looking down at his feet.

They stood for a few minutes longer before Nancy said, “it’s still early, and such a lovely day, will you take a walk with me along the riverbank path. I’m feeling rather nostalgic.” 

“Must be the mystery case,” said Ned, smiling.

“Could be,” she replied, with a twinkle in her eye, as they turned toward the Muskoka River.

They walked silently along the trail beside the water, as they had done many times before, finally stopping at the large boulder that jutted out into the path. Nancy hopped up on it and sat while Ned leaned with his back against its smooth edge, looking out at the gently flowing river. 

Nancy leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against his neck. He could feel her soft breath against his ear. They stayed like that for several minutes.

Then, suddenly, in nearly a whisper, Nancy said, “Ned, I love you.”

Ned reached up and squeezed her hand but did not turn.

“Ned, I’ve always loved you,” Nancy continued, “and I always will.”

Ned stood still and braced himself for the worst. 

“Ned?” she said.

“Hum?” was his reply.

“Will you marry me?” she asked.

Ned spun around and, with a surprised expression in his eyes, looked deep into hers and said, “what did you say?”

Nancy smiled weakly. “I said, will you marry me? I know that I’ve been unfair to you and…”

“Nancy!” he exclaimed, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her deeply. 

“I take it that’s a yes,” she said breathlessly when they finally broke apart.

“Yes!” Ned laughed, “a most definite YES!”

“Good,” she smiled, leaning in to kiss him again, “because I wasn’t sure how I was ever going to live without you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Nancy looked around the room at the expectant expressions on the faces of three generations of Colemans. Edith and James Nickerson sat to her right, next to her father. Hannah sat near the middle, on the opposite side of the room. Ned’s grandparents, John and Mattie Coleman, were to her left, next to Ned, who sat closest to Nancy. She and Ned had decided to announce their engagement at the end of the evening, as sort of the culmination of Nancy’s news in solving the case, since it so closely echoed their own relationship. 

“Discovering what happened between William and Anna, and what happened between my own parents, made me come to terms with what could happen between us,” admitted Nancy to Ned by the river, “they loved each other enough to want to be together even in death. We love each other just as much so, if they can make that kind of commitment, then I certainly can!”

Ned had smiled and, taking her hand, said, “in sickness and in health, til death do us part.”

“When my father first told me about the case, I didn’t think it possible to solve it. It happened so long ago,” Nancy now said to the audience of Colemans. “But, despite the years, there was still evidence left behind.”

Her father and the Coleman family all nodded.

“So, let me start from the beginning,” began Nancy, “William Coleman fell in love with Anna Miller at first sight. He pursued her despite knowing that she had other suitors. Letters from Anna, and the testimony of her sister at the trial, indicate that Anna was not interested in the other men and only wished to be with William. In fact, her last words were ‘I love you’, as he held her in his arms. I was never convinced that William would have flown into a rage and killed her. There was simply no reason too. And, by all accounts, William was devastated by Anna’s death. 

I was also suspicious of the doctor’s report that said that Anna died from a blow to the head, despite never doing a proper autopsy. How could he possibly determine that by just looking at the body? So, what happened?”

“Yes, that’s want we’d like to know,” said Grandmother Coleman as Nancy paused.

“Anna had not been feeling well,” continued Nancy, “she complained of a bad cold and a cough. The cold was getting better but the cough persisted. Anna even joked with her sister that she didn’t want to be coughing during the anticipated marriage proposal from William. At first, I didn’t attach much significance to the cough until my friend Bess complained of the same condition. Bess mentioned that she had been drinking “honey tea” and was getting better. However, Anna had also been drinking honey tea but was getting significantly worse. That lead me to think that perhaps she had Tuberculous.”

There were gasps in the room and Edith said, “yes, of course, Tuberculous! That would make sense. But why didn’t anyone know?”

“Because Anna didn’t know. And, although he was beginning to suspect it, her own doctor didn’t know. I was able to trace her original medical records to his grandson, Dr. Spelling, and there is clear indication that she had it. Also, there was mention of her having blood in her mouth when she died. We can assume that was from a severe coughing fit brought on by her walk along the river. 

If you recall, William went to pick her up but when he arrived, she had already left. My theory is that she wanted to clear her lungs and catch her breath in preparation of his visit. Tuberculous is an infection of the lungs so she may very well have been experiencing shortness of breath.”

“How can you be sure that she had the disease,” asked Grandfather Coleman, speaking up for the first time.

“Because my father and I were able to get Anna’s body exhumed,” Nancy explained, smiling at her father. “The county medical examiner conducted a proper autopsy and verified that Anna did indeed have Tuberculous. They have concluded that it took her life. She most likely received the bump on her head from a tree trunk when she fell forward. It most certainly wasn’t the cause of death. They are correcting the record and revising her death certificate.”

“Then William’s name is cleared,” exclaimed Ned’s mother, “he was always innocent as we have believed!”

“Yes,” smiled Nancy.

“So, whatever happened to William?” asked Grandmother Coleman, “were you ever able to track him down.”

“Yes, but before I tell you,” Nancy added, “I have this wonderful picture of him that I received from a member of Anna’s family.” She reached over and picked up the envelope from the side table, carefully removing the picture to show the Coleman family.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Edith, “Ned, you certainly have a bit of your uncle in you, don’t you agree?”

Ned nodded, although secretly he didn’t see the resemblance.

Nancy now continued with the story about William. “The family was correct about William going to Boston directly following the trial. No one could find him because he changed his name. George and I happened to find some of his artwork in a small museum there and I was able to trace him through that.”

“What name did he use in Boston?” asked Mr. Drew.

“Andrew Morrison,” said Nancy.

“Oh,” exclaimed John Coleman, “I know that artist! I saw several of his paintings when I would travel to Boston on business. To think that I was looking at my own Uncle William’s work!”

“With his name changed to Morrison,” Nancy continued, “he was free to start a new life. He worked as an Illustrator for over 20 years at the Browning Publishing Company. By all accounts, he had a successful life in Boston, although he never stopped loving Anna, so never got married or had children. He ended up fighting in the Spanish-American War and was killed in action in 1898.”

“Oh,” said Edith sadly, “so that’s why he never returned home.”

Nancy looked at Ned and said, “why don’t you tell them.”

Ned cleared his throat and smiled. “He did come home, Mom. While he was in Boston, he bought the grave plot next to Anna’s and he’s buried there now, in the River Heights main cemetery. Nancy and I checked it out this afternoon.”

Another gasp went around the room. Then Hannah sighed and said, “so William and Anna are finally together.”

“Yes,” said Nancy, “for eternity.”

“Well young lady,” said Grandfather Coleman, “you’ve done an excellent job in solving this very old case. The Colemans will be forever grateful.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Nancy, “but I do have one regret,” she admitted, “I wish that I could have found out more about Anna Miller, other than just her medical history. It’s obvious that she captivated William’s heart. And, from their letters, and all the family stories, she sounds like a wonderful young woman. I just wish I had gotten to know her better somehow.”

Everyone in the room nodded in agreement and Grandmother Coleman said, “yes, that would have been interesting.”

“I believe that I can be of help,” said Carson Drew, smiling, “after all, I was able to track down Anna’s next-of-kin for her exhumation.”

“That’s right, Dad!” exclaimed Nancy, “I’d forgotten! Please tell us what you know!”

“Well,” began Mr. Drew, sitting back in his chair, completely enjoying himself, “we already know that Anna Miller had an older sister named Sarah. Sarah Miller married a man named Thomas Barnes and they had two children; a son named Robert and a daughter named Elizabeth. It was Robert’s wife, Claire, who sent us the box of Anna’s letters. Elizabeth Barnes married a man named Paul Sullivan and they had one daughter.”

Suddenly, Mr. Drew stood up from his chair and left the room, returning a moment later carrying what looked like a very large picture covered with a red blanket. He leaned it up against the fireplace at the front of the room and continued, “Elizabeth and Paul had one daughter and her name was Katherine Sullivan…” and there Carson Drew stopped and looked around the room.

No one spoke, looking at each other with confusion, when, suddenly, Nancy jumped up and said, “My mother! Katherine Sullivan was my mother!”

“Exactly,” smiled her father, and with that, he swiftly lifted the blanket from the picture to reveal a large oil painting. Everyone gasped and Edith Nickerson cried, “that’s you Nancy!”

The young woman in the painting certainly looked like Nancy but she wasn’t. Like Nancy, she was very beautiful, but her clothes were from a time long past. From her pose, she looked slightly taller than average. Her figure was slim, and her red hair was pinned up atop her head with strands dropping down onto her shoulders. She had wonderful bright blue eyes that seemed to twinkle as she looked at the artist.

“Nancy,” said her father, smiling, “I would like you to meet your great, great, aunt Anna Miller.”

The shock was felt around the room. And then everyone jumped to their feet, jaws dropping. Eventually, it was Ned who recovered first and asked, ‘Mr. Drew, Nancy is related to Anna Miller?”

“Yes,” replied Carson Drew, “in fact, my daughter is the last remaining blood relative of Anna’s.”

“Dad,” said Nancy, finally finding her voice, “how can that be?”

“On your mother’s side,” answered her father, “your mother and I had only one child, you dear daughter. And Paul and Elizabeth had only one child, your mother Kate. Robert and Claire had no children. So, the family blood line goes from Anna’s sister Sarah, who was her only sibling, to your grandmother Elizabeth, down to your mother, and now to you. Since your mother, grandmother, and great grandmother are all deceased, that leaves only you. Claire Barnes, Paul Sullivan, and I are only related by marriage.”

“So when I signed the petition for exhumation,” she asked, “I wasn’t signing as the detective assigned to the case.”

“No,” said her father, “you signed as the next-of-kin. I thought it might be better to keep that fact from you until you solved it. Less distracting that way.”

“But how did you figure it out?” asked Edith, “and where on earth did you find the portrait?”

“Well, I could say that Nancy isn’t the only detective in the family,” replied Carson, “but in all honesty, I just got lucky. When we read over the transcripts of the trial that evening, I keep trying to remember where I had heard the name Sarah Miller Barnes. At the time, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then, just the other day, I was looking through my old wedding album and talking to Nancy about her mother, when it dawned on me that my late mother-in-law was named Barnes. Elizabeth Barnes.”

“And Mrs. Nickerson had told me that the Miller family had moved to River Heights after Anna’s death,” said Nancy, finally understanding.

“Yes,” said her father, “I just needed to find out if our Elizabeth Barnes Sullivan was related to Sarah Miller Barnes, so I went over to city hall and looked up the marriage and death records. Sure enough, there they were.”

“That’s why you volunteered to find Anna’s next-of-kin for me,” asked Nancy, “because you already suspected that I was related.”

“Yes,” nodded Mr. Drew.

“So, what about the painting?” asked Ned, “how’d you ever find it?”

“I can answer that,” replied Hannah, with a smile, “your father came to me for help in recalling some of the family stories. I remembered that there were some old files stored in the attic and a large picture that Mrs. Drew had put there. I remember helping her carry it and it being very awkward. She told me that it was an old painting that had been handed down to her through the family but there wasn’t any place to hang it in the house so up to the attic it went. I don’t recall ever seeing it as I believe that it was always covered with the blanket to protect it from being damaged.” 

“When Hannah told me about the files and painting,” added Carson Drew, “I went up to our attic to investigate and, sure enough, when I uncovered the painting, there was Anna Miller. Her name and that of the painter, one William Coleman, are marked on the back,” and he tilted the large portrait slightly so everyone could look behind it. Still clearly visible were the two names.

Nancy chuckled, “So, Anna Miller’s famous portrait was in our attic all this time.”

“Yes,” said her father, “and I must admit that I, too, was startled at the resemblance between you and your Aunt Anna. It nearly gave me a heart attack when I uncovered it in the attic.”

Everyone laughed at the idea of Carson Drew’s reaction to uncovering a 19th century portrait of his 20 year old daughter. 

As everyone settled back in their seats and gazed at the nearly life-size painting of Anna Miller, Ned’s mother sighed and said, “Ned’s Uncle William being in love with Nancy’s Aunt Anna. It’s Kismet, don’t you think?”

“Well,” said Ned, suddenly, “I suppose now’s as good a time as any,” and coming to stand next to Nancy, he took her hand and looked around the room. “Nancy and I are getting married,” he announced to the surprised gathering. And then he dropped down to one knee and, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulled out a velvet ring box. He looked up into his true love’s deep blue eyes and asked, “Nancy, you know that I love you. Will you consent to wear the Coleman Ring as a symbol of our engagement and in honor of the eternal love between William and Anna?”

As Nancy tearfully nodded her head yes, Ned gently slipped the beautiful diamond ring onto her finger. She brought her hand up and over his shoulder to kiss him, and the sun from the window caught the delicate facets of the ring, sending sparkling rays of light around the room and across the faces of the two families, finally united. 

One could almost imagine William and Anna smiling.

~~~~~~ The End~~~~~~


End file.
